


King and Country

by tabulaxrasa



Series: Illyria (King and Country) [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bandom Big Bang, Historical AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 52,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa/pseuds/tabulaxrasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Today, they'd woken up and Gerard was King of Illyria.</i> Frank hasn't really been a stable boy since he ended up in the archduke's bed, but now Gerard's exile is over and he's king. Frank has to survive court, politics, and scheming nobles to figure out exactly what he <i>is</i> now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: Baedeker

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tuesdays gone for beta. Art by mrsronweasley can be found [here](http://tabula-x-rasa.livejournal.com/453261.html), and two fanmixes, by xoxxblitz7 and silver_etoile, are [here.](http://tabula-x-rasa.livejournal.com/453545.html) Thanks to all of them!
> 
> 10/17/12- I have retconned Pedicone out of this! Because ew. The original version is still up [at Dreamwidth](http://tabula-x-rasa.dreamwidth.org/7380.html), if for some reason you really want to read it.

Sketch of Illyria, from _Baedeker's Guide to Central Europe_ , 1850

_Illyria_ \- A narrow country with one end in the Tyrolean Alps and one end on the Adriatic, bordered to the west by the Venetia and to the east by the Austrian Empire and the Dalmatian Coast.

Once a Roman province, the native Illyrian language is a dialect of Slovene, although this has largely been supplanted in commercial and cultural life by Italian. There are pockets of people who speak Austrian German and various Slavic languages (Yiddish, Croatian, and Serbian being the most common) The upper classes speak French and German, and many of the merchant marine speak some English as well.

Never fully integrated into the Holy Roman Empire and never much beset by Reformation troubles, the country also escaped the recent revolutionary fervor. Illyrian forces assisted in the defense of Vienna against the Turks, but the country's history has otherwise been largely peaceful and only a small army and navy are maintained. The country remained autonomous during the first French Empire only by cutting a costly deal with Napoleon, including supplying his army for the war against Austria. (Austria has not forgotten this.)

As part of the pact with Napoleon, Illyria joined the Continental system in 1815, becoming a constitutional monarchy. Its current constitution and laws remain based around the Napoleonic Code. The ruler is a King, his wife is Queen; the heir and his wife are styled Archduke and Archduchess; the other children and their spouses are styled Grand Duke and Grand Duchess.

The capital city, Aquileia, is located at the foot of the Alps, and has a university, botanic gardens, zoologic park, cathedral, parliament building, and the palace of Aqua Brava, which has been the main official royal residence since the sixteenth century.

The second city, both in size, population, and importance, is Port Angelo, on the Adriatic coast. Its main focus is on international trade. Some Moorish (or perhaps Venetian) influence may be observed in its architecture.

The currency is the corona ( _pl._ corone) and florint. 100 florints = 1 corona.

* * *


	2. King & Country

_Chapter 1_

Frank was already reaching for the hilt of the dagger he kept under his pillow before he recognized the voice that had woken him as _familiar_ and _trusted._ He kept his hand on the dagger, though, and only half-lifted his head. 

Anything could be happening, was the thing.

"Highness," Ray was saying, over and over, once in a while slipping and letting a whispered "Gerard!" escape. "Are you awake? You have to get up right now."

Next to him, Gerard finally groaned and started moving around. "Ray?" he said, voice croaky. "What is it?"

The bed curtains pulled back to let in a spill of light. Ray had turned a lamp on, low so their eyes weren't hurt. He threw something heavy but soft on the bed.

"You must get up and come out right now, Highness." Ray's voice was always high but now it sounded strained, shaking a little. "You— just come out." He pushed the curtains fully open and moved across the room, almost at a run. He turned the lamp up and slipped out the doors to the sitting room. When the door opened there was a burst of light and noise, quickly silenced.

Frank slid his hand from under the pillow and turned over to look at Gerard. He was half-propped up on his elbows, hair wild (partly Frank's work), with a startled expression that looked oddly similar to the one worn by Frank's new puppy the first time he'd given her a bath.

Frank reached out, and very gently pushed on Gerard's shoulder. "Get up," he whispered.

Gerard shook his head a little, shaking off the sleep, and sat up. He reached for whatever Ray had thrown across the foot of the bed, which turned out to be his dressing gown. Both their dressing gowns, Frank realized a moment later, because Ray was always on top of things like that.

They climbed out of bed and put on the gowns. Gerard tied the belt very tight. He looked pale, even in the yellow gaslight, even for him. "Go on," Frank whispered.

Gerard did, taking a deep breath and marching across the room. Frank followed, stopping only long enough to slide the dagger from under his pillow into the pocket of his dressing gown.

He was still in the dark shadows when Gerard opened the door and stepped into the salon. All the lamps were lit in there and it was full of people, some of whom Frank didn't know. He hurried to squeeze through the side of the door, sticking to the wall of the room like a mouse.

As soon as Gerard stepped into the salon, all the people in it started dropping. It took Frank's sleep-confused brain a few seconds to process what had happened. Everyone was kneeling. He followed automatically.

An older man man Frank didn't know said "The king is dead. Long live the king." And he inclined his head toward Gerard.

 _Oh,_ Frank thought. It was _that._

"Long live the king," everyone echoed, and Frank made haste to join in. He meant it. He _really_ meant it.

He looked up at Gerard, who looked even paler and unsteady on his feet. Frank made an abortive movement— he wanted to get up and go to Gerard, in case he fell— but Gerard kept his feet. 

Everyone stood up anyway, and Frank followed suit, feeling like there was a script they were all following and he'd never received a copy.

The man who'd first spoken— he must be some sort of lord, but all Frank knew about him was that he was older and bald— stepped forward, kneeled again, and took Gerard's hand. He recited the oath and kissed Gerard's hand, which was very strange to see.

Then he rose and stepped aside, and another man stepped forward. Frank had never seen him before in person, but he'd seen his picture in newspaper engravings. It was the archbishop. 

He did not quite get on his knees— he was a very old man, and the dignity of the Church must be maintained— but he recited the oath and kissed Gerard's hand.

As he shuffled to the side, Frank noticed Gerard's eyes frantically searching the room until they settled on something and relief flickered over his face. Mikey stepped forward, and Frank relaxed a bit. Mikey wouldn't let Gerard fall.

Mikey got down on his knees, recited the oath, and kissed Gerard's hand. That, more than anything else, made it real. Mikey got up and stood right next to Gerard, on his right.

The captain of the guard came forward then, and took the oath. The room was starting to shift, people looking at each other for clues. All the guards present queued up to take the oath, and then Ray got in line behind them.

Well, if Ray was doing it, Frank was certainly doing it. Once he was in line, the servants present started to queue up too— the butler and the footmen and the housekeeper and the maids, and was that the cook? If the kitchen maids showed up Frank was sending them away, that was ridiculous. They'd be here all night.

Suddenly there was no one between him and Gerard. Gerard looked surprised— as if Frank wouldn't take a loyalty oath to him? Frank walked the three steps forward and knelt down— this was weird, all these people around— and took Gerard's hand.

"I pledge my life, my loyalty, and my service to the King of Illyria," he said clearly. Even if he hadn't known the oath before, there had been plenty of opportunity to learn it tonight. 

He brought Gerard's hand to his lips, pressing his mouth against the knuckles. He squeezed Gerard's hand, and Gerard squeezed back. Frank pulled back, eyes meeting Gerard's again as he let go and stood up. Gerard looked slightly panicky, but Frank thought only he and Mikey, and possibly Ray, would notice.

He quickly moved to the side and tried to blend in with the wallpaper. The head housemaid, Chloe, came to stand next to him after her oath and slipped her hand in his. "Mad, isn't it?" she breathed. He squeezed her hand.

There were just a few footmen and maids left, and Frank tried to figure out what would happen after that. "We'll need coffee," he whispered to Chloe. "Lots of it."

"Aye, sir," she whispered, still managing to add the saucy twist on _sir_ all the senior household staff used with him because they knew he didn't deserve it. Frank didn't mind. He knew he didn't deserve it, too.

"I suppose you'll be going to the capital now," Chloe said sadly.

"What?" Frank turned to look at her.

She frowned slightly. "Their Highnesses will go back now, won't they? Aren't you going, too?"

Because they weren't exiled anymore. Of course they weren't. There was no one to exile them.

"I suppose," Frank said, because he didn't know what else to say.

He watched the last person in the queue kiss Gerard's hand, and suddenly something occurred to Frank, and he had to bite his lip hard to keep from giggling.

"What?" Chloe demanded.

"Just—" Frank struggled to keep a straight face. "All these people have been kissing Gerard's hand."

"And?"

"And… I know where it's been." Frank clamped a hand over his mouth. He felt hysterical.

Chloe made a sound that must have been her swallowing a howl of outrage. She punched Frank in the arm— and it hurt, housemaids had very strong arms— and hissed "You devil!" But Frank could still hear the tone of good humor in her voice.

"The archbishop," he whispered, and then Chloe had to clamp both hands over her mouth. She crossed herself, eyes wide, shoulders shaking. 

A deep hush fell over the room, and Frank and Chloe, sober, turned their attention to the crowd. Everyone was looking at Gerard. Frank hoped they weren't expecting him to make a speech.

"Thank you," Gerard said, speaking for the first time. "Thank you all. I…" he trailed off. Frank saw that Gerard had no idea what to say, was reeling. He ached to rush across the room and hide him from these people, friends and strangers alike.

One of Gerard's hands wandered to his hair, making more of a mess of it. Mikey grabbed the other hand and held on tight. They was used to being left alone and— the realization hit Frank like a great weight, or a sudden drop— now Gerard would never be left alone again.

Frank's hands clenched into fists. He looked around the room and finally spotted Ray, who had apparently been trying to catch Frank's eye. They nodded at each other.

"Excuse me, I'm afraid Their Serene Highnesses have a lot to do now… all of you back to your posts…" It took a little bit for the crowd to be convinced by Ray, even the servants who should have snapped to when he spoke.

But they began shifting. Ray sent footmen to begin herding more dignified persons away.

"Coffee, then?" Chloe asked Frank. "And breakfast?"

Frank ran a hand through his hair as he thought. It was hard enough to get Gerard to eat breakfast on a good day. "Something light," he said. "Bread, rolls, that sort of thing."

Chloe nodded. "I'll try and catch Mme Caillet before she goes down." She hurried off, leaving Frank on his own in the rapidly emptying room.

The dignitaries had been taken elsewhere, the guards were sorting themselves out, and all the servants still present were being given orders by the butler. He didn't see Gerard and Mikey, but Ray was just closing the door to the bedroom.

Frank hurried over. "What happens now?"

Poor Ray looked exhausted already. "Their Highnesses need to leave for the capital right away; Count Szerlim was most insistent."

"Is that the bald man?" Frank asked.

Ray looked a little shocked— he often did around Frank— and nodded. "Yes, that's— well, he's the one who brought the news. He's been the late king's closest advisor for a long time. I forgot you wouldn't know that."

Ray was Gerard's personal secretary, and had come from the palace with Gerard and Mikey. Frank had never been inland at all, let alone all the way to the capital. He'd barely been to Port Angelo, and that was only two hours away.

Ray shook himself a little. "All right, here's what you need to do."

Frank straightened his shoulders. He could handle orders. 

"Everyone going to the capital needs to pack a bag. Just an overnight bag, one valise. Necessities. The servants here will pack everything up and send it on later. You'd better just pack Gerard's— I mean, His Majesty's— bag for him, Frank. And make sure Michael does one, please? Sorry, but I know I can count on you and Their Highnesses—"

"I understand."

"And then get dressed as soon as possible. I'll have the kitchens pack you a basket for the trip."

"Aren't you coming?" Frank asked.

"I— I don't know. I haven't had time to think about it yet."

"I really think you'd better," Frank said. "Mrs. Salvenic can oversee the packing. Ger— Their Highnesses will need you." _And so will I,_ Frank thought. He wouldn't know anyone except Gerard and Mikey. Ray was a friend.

Ray nodded. "I'd better run and pack, then."

Frank saw him off then made to go into the bedroom but paused, hand on the handle. He wasn't sure what he'd find inside.

To be honest— the sort of honest Frank didn't want to be with himself at three in the morning— Frank wasn't even sure he _was_ going to the capital. They'd never talked about it, Frank and Gerard. They'd never even discussed what would happen if Gerard's exile was ended, let alone what would happen the (inevitable, even) day they woke up and Gerard was King of Illyria.

Today. Today, they'd woken up and Gerard was King of Illyria.

Frank leaned his head against the door and took a deep breath. He was a stable boy. He didn't know what he was doing here; he hardly knew what he was doing in the stables, and even they felt very far away just now. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up in this position, but here he was. And Gerard and Mikey were inside this room, and he loved them, and that was the thing that mattered here.

Frank briefly considered and dismissed the idea of knocking. He turned the handle and opened the door just enough to slip inside.

It was very dim inside, after the brightness of the outer room. Gerard and Mikey were sitting on the edge of the bed, huddled together. Mikey's head was on Gerard's shoulder, and Gerard had an arm around Mikey. Gerard looked up briefly when Frank slipped in.

Frank crossed to stand in front of them, for the first time feeling the dagger in his pocket bouncing off his leg with every step.

"I'm sorry about your father," he said.

Now both Gerard and Mikey looked up. Their eyes were bloodshot but they hadn't been crying. Not yet. They were still in shock. And now they were looking at Frank hopefully, which meant he had to think of something else to say.

Frank didn't know what to do with his hands, so he put them in his pockets. He wrapped his right hand around the sheath of the dagger. Something to hold on to.

"I know you didn't always get along very well," he said, voice low. That was one way to put it. The king had exiled his own son for six years, and it was only ending now because he'd died. Frank licked his lips. "But he was still your father. And… I'm sorry."

Frank had nothing else for them. His own father had been lost at sea when Frank was three, and he didn't remember him at all.

When Gerard spoke, his voice was hoarse and halting. "I guess… I just always thought there would be time to fix it. That one day he'd understand and I could explain or… But there won't be, now. It's done."

Frank moved next to the bed, laying a careful hand on Gerard's head. In response, Gerard's free arm snaked around Frank's waist and pulled him close. Gerard buried his head in Frank's chest. Frank immediately wrapped his arms around Gerard and pressed his lips to the top of Gerard's head. He couldn't tell if Gerard was crying or not, but thought he might be.

He looked at Mikey, his head still on Gerard's shoulder at an awkward angle. Frank spared one hand to lay on Mikey's head. After a moment, Mikey wrapped a hand around Frank's wrist and left it there.

Aside from being the king, Frank did not have a very good opinion of Gerard and Mikey's father. He had sent Gerard into exile here at Sudagio because there had been a boy, long before Frank, and he hadn't approved of that. Hadn't approved of Gerard, and he'd sent him away. Mikey, who had loved his brother, had gone with him.

On the other hand, if he hadn't, Frank wouldn't have met Gerard. So there was that in his favor.

After a few minutes there was a gentle knock on the door and Chloe called "Coffee" quietly. Gerard's head lifted like a hunting dog on the scent and it made Frank smile. He hid the smile with another kiss to Gerard's hair. 

"Come on," he said. "We need to eat and drink and pack."

While Gerard and Mikey inhaled coffee and shredded sweet rolls without eating them, Frank passed on what Ray had said about packing. Gerard started to make a fuss about his art collection which Frank put down by pointing out Franz-Michel the footman knew what to do.

Frank realized, with a sickening jolt, that it was nearly four. He sent Mikey to get packed, and set Gerard to picking out a few books to take. He packed a day's worth of clothes for Gerard and for himself. He wondered if the puppy could have her own valise, but suspected Ray might make pained faces at him. 

Gerard came back in with ten books and Frank set him to getting dressed. Gerard didn't have a valet; Frank helped him with his cufflinks and Gerard did the same for him. Frank didn't know what Gerard had done before he'd moved in.

Frank managed to dash off a shamefully short and incomplete letter to his mother— just telling her he was going to the capital with Gerard, trusting to the news to explain the rest. He melted wax and sealed it with the first thing that came to hand, which was the official Archduke's Seal. He hoped no one would notice.

There was a knock on the door. The butler, telling them the carriages were ready and it was time to go.

Frank got his letter to Chloe, who promised to take it herself. He managed to show Franz-Michel which valises to take, despite Gerard trying to tell him all over again how to pack the Turner, which poor Franz-Michel knew perfectly well.

He gave Gerard the puppy and pushed him out of the room. He was trying to wiggle into his coat, hat in his teeth, and then noticed Gerard had left his scarf on the bed so he grabbed that, too.

He ran into the hallway and found Ray, looking even twitchier than usual. Frank assumed they were quite late and tried to hurry down the hall and finish dressing at the same time.

"Frank, wait—" Ray touched his arm and they stopped. Ray looked around, watched a footman round the corner.

"Urr?" Frank asked. He hadn't yet got the hat out of his teeth.

"Be careful of Count Szerlim," Ray said. "He was… asking about you."

Frank took his hat out of his mouth and slapped it cockeyed on his head. "Asking about me?" Why would a _count_ care anything about him?

"About your… relationship with His Majesty."

Frank stared at Ray, who was looking uncomfortably off to the side. "What did you tell him?" Frank asked, after being unable to come up with anything else.

Ray shrugged. "He wanted to know how much— how fond of you Gerard is, and if he'd be taking you with him. And… if there were any others."

"Any others?" Frank felt struck stupid, unable to do anything but parrot Ray's words back to him. 

"You know, any other… boys. Or women." Ray looked embarrassed. "So I told him, you know, that of course Gerard— His Majesty, I mean— would be taking you with him and there wasn't anyone else."

Frank didn't know what to say. "Thank you?"

Ray shrugged. "I just told him the truth. He seemed disappointed, in every answer. I don't know why, it's not like he didn't know… anyway. Look, Frank," Ray turned focused and urgent again. "I do think he's going to try and separate you from Gerard." Frank opened his mouth to say _something_ about that but Ray continued talking. "I know he can't, but just be careful, Frank. Don't let him separate you at all." Ray cast a worried look down the corridor. "We'd better catch up, come on."

The whole thing had only taken a minute or two, but Frank's world felt badly out of place. It wasn't a secret or anything, him and Gerard. It hardly could be. All the servants who had come from the capital had known why Gerard was exiled, and most of the others found out, if they hadn't already known. Gerard's pursuit of Frank hadn't exactly been subtle, for all that it took Frank long enough to catch on. And now… well, Frank had never even been given his own room for pretense. His clothes and shoes, which Gerard had had made for him, lived on shelves next to Gerard's clothes and shoes, and even when he was sick, Gerard made him stay tucked up in his bed— their bed— and that's where Gerard's doctor saw him.

No one on the royal estate of Sudagio had any doubt what Frank was. He knew servants gossiped— he used to be one, after all— and knew that some people in the village must know, but he didn't know how many, or who. If his mother knew, she had never alluded to it, not even when Frank brought home enough money to move her to better lodgings, and keep a maid, and bought her expensive gifts though he'd stopped working in the stables.

It couldn't even be properly called an open secret, since they made no effort to hide anything. Frank ate dinner with Gerard and Mikey— and, most nights, Ray— and he'd keep Gerard company as he drew for hours, and play games with Mikey, and Gerard often held his hand or kissed him as they wandered around, regardless of who else was with them. If Mme Caillet, the cook, wanted to know if Gerard would like something, she had Frank taste it, because Frank was considered the expert on all matters relating to Gerard. Frank didn't belong to either upstairs or downstairs, but he was welcome in both places. Gerard had let him get the ugliest puppy he could find and name her Sweet Pea, and all the maids and Mikey treated Frank like a brother, and everyone _knew_ and no one _cared,_ or at least no one cared in front of Frank. Most of the time, Frank even forgot Gerard was the archduke. Frank and Ray called them _Their Highnesses_ because it was faster than saying _Gerard and Mikey._

And that was all going to change now.

He stepped out the front doors of Sudagio Hall— who knew when he would be back again?— and found two carriages ready to go. One was Gerard's and very familiar to Frank; the other must be the one Count Szerlim and the archbishop had traveled in. It was only a taxi from Port Angelo.

Gerard was saying very sincere farewells to his staff, followed by a rather more silent Mikey. He was still carrying the puppy but she'd woken up and was wiggling, trying to lick everyone's faces. Frank went up and took Sweet Pea from Gerard, giving him his scarf instead. He followed along to say goodbye.

"Your Majesty," Count Szerlim appeared at Gerard's elbow out of nowhere. "We really must be leaving."

Gerard looked crushed for a moment but nodded and went straight to the carriage. Frank checked that their valises were onboard and then let Gerard climb in. He passed up the puppy and got out of the way so Mikey could climb in.

"Here's the basket!" Ray called, shoving it at Frank, and was immediately pulled away by some other concern.

Frank took the picnic basket— it was very heavy— and slid it onto the carriage floor. The kitchen maids had all come up with the basket and wailed for him, so Frank went over and let them kiss him and cuddle him. He'd been their favorite pet even before Gerard had laid eyes on him— they'd slipped him food, the thing a teenage boy wanted most, really. They pinched him and waved him off, sniffling into their handkerchiefs.

Ray was making sure the luggage was secure, and Frank was preparing to climb in the carriage when he glanced over and saw Mr. Kresnej, the head groom. Frank looked back at Gerard, who raised an eyebrow. "I'll be right back," Frank said. "I need to say goodbye to Mr. Kresnej." Gerard nodded and let the puppy nibble his fingers.

Frank jumped off the step and raced across the drive. "Mr. Kresnej," he said, fighting the urge to take off his hat. Technically, Frank was of higher rank now. Probably.

"Mr. Iero," Kresnej nodded at him.

"Thank you," Frank said quickly. "For taking a chance and hiring me when I had no experience."

"Hmm," Mr. Kresnej said. "Not sure I should've. You were all right with the horses, but not terribly reliable."

Frank stared and let his mouth work, hoping something would come out. 

Mr. Kresnej's face cracked, and that might have been an actual smile on it— the first Frank had ever seen. "Be off with you, boy," he said. "Good luck."

Frank grinned. "Thank you, sir." He did doff his hat then. Frank hurried back toward the carriage. The door had been shut— probably to keep the heat in— and Count Szerlim was standing by it. Frank did not see Ray. He didn't like this.

"You had better go," the Count shouted to the driver. "We'll be right behind you."

"Wait!" Frank called, and broke into a run. Ray's warning was suddenly ringing in his ears. _Don't let him separate you._ He couldn't help thinking of the dagger he'd slipped into his coat pocket.

The idiot driver moved the horses, and the carriage started to roll.

"STOP!" Gerard opened the window and shouted through it. The carriage halted at once. Gerard managed to get his head out the window. He looked cross. "Why are you moving? Where's Frank?"

"Right here!" Frank stood right next to Count Szerlim but didn't look at him once. He knew he looked smug but couldn't help it.

"Well, get in." Gerard pulled out of the window and opened the door. They were away from the step now but Frank could jump.

"Your Majesty," Count Szerlim had somehow managed to step in front of Frank without touching him or acknowledging his existence in any way. "By the time we reach Port Angelo, sire, there will be crowds who naturally wish to express their sympathy and solidarity with Your Majesty."

"And?" Gerard's voice was quiet and flat. It wasn't a tone he used often. Ray appeared at Frank's side and they exchanged a look.

"Sire, you will be observed getting out of your carriage and into the train. I am sure you realize how inappropriate sharing the royal carriage with servants would be."

Gerard must have given the puppy to Mikey because he suddenly appeared in the door. He wasn't leaning out, but he was filling the door. His face was blank and cold— or blank to someone who didn't know him well. Frank felt a little shiver run up his back. For the first time that morning, Gerard looked like royalty.

"Count Szerlim. Due to Our long absence, your ignorance on this issue may be excused this once. For the future, however, do pay close attention: Mr. Iero is not a servant. Now please stand aside so that We may be on Our way."

Count Szerlim looked like somewhere inside, he might be shocked. There was a little tick in his jaw, and he made a short bow. "As Your Majesty says."

Gerard moved back into the carriage and Szerlim got out of Frank's way. He could feel the count's gaze burning into his back as he climbed in at last.

Frank sat on the bench with a sigh. Next to him, Gerard huffed quietly. Frank leaned over to take the puppy from Mikey. Mikey winked at him, and Frank smiled back.

"Where's Ray?" Mikey asked.

For some reason Ray was on the roof; Frank and Mikey demanded he get inside.

"It's too cold to ride on the roof," was all Mikey said. Ray was Gerard's secretary but he wasn't actually a commoner or a servant— he was the youngest son of an impoverished minor noble. So no one put up a fight about him riding in the carriage.

They were finally all in the carriage and door was shut. Gerard knocked on the roof, and at last they set off for Port Angelo.

Ray checked his watch. "It might be seven before we get there," he sighed.

"The roads are frozen," Mikey said. "It'll be fast." They continued to discuss the roads and the weather. Frank got the puppy secured in one arm and slid his other hand under Gerard's. Gerard laced their fingers together and didn't otherwise move, staring out the window.

_Chapter 2_

They rattled through the village of Krillij almost at a gallop. Not that there was ever much to see, but it was the place Frank had spent his entire life, and it felt odd to leave it so abruptly. The sky got less dead-of-night black and turned a little more pre-dawn grey. Mikey asked about the hamper. Frank put Sweet Pea back into Gerard's lap and dug out the basket. 

Frank pulled out a flask and unscrewed the lid. "Tea," he announced. Gerard made a sound like he was dying, or at least undergoing very painful surgery. "Oh shut up," Frank said. "There's another flask."

That one did have coffee and Gerard got bossy about it, but at least he was acting like himself again. Frank let Gerard and Mikey drink all the coffee, which was how much he loved them. That, and he'd already had two cups and between that and the nerves, he thought any more might make him vibrate off the seat. 

Frank made Gerard take a bacon sandwich too. "You have to eat _something._ " Gerard did finally give in and eat, although Frank was pretty sure Sweet Pea ate half the bacon.

There were lots of bacon sandwiches, and a couple egg sandwiches for Frank, who did not eat meat if he could help it. There were also a dozen hard-boiled eggs and two baguettes and two kinds of homemade jams and fresh butter. There was soft white cheese, a pound cake, and some ham and cold chicken.

"She's packed for breakfast, dinner, and every meal in between," Frank shook his head.

"You know Mme Caillet," Ray said. "She just doesn't want us to forget about her."

At the bottom, Frank uncovered some chocolate-dipped biscuits. These Gerard would eat without encouragement, and almost without sharing.

After they were all stuffed, Frank let the puppy lick the grease from his fingers. It was amazing, really, how much a good meal could change one's outlook. Gerard spread a blanket over them, and they tried to get the puppy to stay under it but she seemed to think it was a brilliant new game so they had to bring her out and let her stay in the colder air. She curled up around her fat little stomach— between the bacon, the eggs, and the ham, she'd made out like a bandit— and fell asleep.

The road between Krillij and Port Angelo was not that exciting, especially in the dark, and Frank started to doze off.

"Did they tell you what happened?" Mikey's voice was low. He must think Frank was asleep. Maybe Ray as well.

"No," Gerard answered. "It's all just been a blur. No one's really talked to me." Frank could feel Gerard using the arm he wasn't leaning against to gesture.

"They told me he died in his sleep," Mikey said quietly. "But I don't know how they figured it out in the middle of the night."

Gerard hummed in response. Frank felt the brush of Gerard's cheek or jaw against the top of his head. "Did they say anything about mother?"

"That she's distraught, of course." Mikey's tone was very off-hand. "And that she's looking forward to seeing us." His tone was less casual there.

Frank had less of an opinion on the queen than he did the king, but he supposed that she could have come to visit her sons at some point, if she'd wanted to. Couldn't she? But she never had come down. He didn't know a thing about the frequency of her letters. Frank _was_ close to his mother, at least before his relationship with Gerard had started, and he couldn't imagine his mother abandoning him for anything. Although he'd never told her about Gerard, had he, even in a roundabout way?

He sighed at himself and rubbed his cheek against Gerard's shoulder. It seemed there were a lot of things he'd never bothered to think about until now.

 

Frank had been to Port Angelo a few times as a boy, and several times with Gerard and Mikey, mostly to go to the theatre. The sky was light grey when they hit town but the streets were still mostly empty. Ray informed them it was quarter to seven.

There was a crowd outside the train station, although Frank thought some of them were just confused travelers. The train station was shut down until the royal train left, and some people hadn't gotten the message until they'd arrived at the station with their bags.

Frank, Ray, and Mikey scrambled to get everything back in the hamper. Gerard nervously fiddled with his cuffs and resettled his hat. He put on his gloves and re-draped his scarf. They all buttoned their coats. 

The crowd was quiet, murmuring to itself when the carriage pulled up. Gerard got out first, of course, and then the crowd began to applaud. Gerard looked surprised but grateful. 

"Go on," Ray whispered, nudging Mikey. Mikey climbed out to stand next to his brother, and the applause increased. Gerard looked humbly grateful, which was a good look on him, and Frank noticed some of the younger ladies present sigh and whisper to each other. It made him smile, so he pulled up his scarf to hide his mouth and got a tight hold on Sweet Pea.

"Let's go out the other side," Ray suggested, and Frank agreed readily. Ray was counting the valises as they were brought down, so Frank peeked around the side of the carriage.

The police had set up a barricade in front of the station, and Gerard and Mikey were now on the edge of it, talking to the crowd and shaking hands. They were all speaking quietly, so Frank couldn't hear what was said. 

The count and the archbishop had arrived at some point and went straight to the train. "Why don't you get on?" Ray said to Frank. "I'll get Their Highnesses."

The puppy was starting to wriggle, so Frank wrapped both arms around her and went through the station to the platform. He looked around and put the puppy down by a shrub. He felt bad about letting her pee in what was technically a train station, but it was there or on the train.

The train at the platform seemed shorter than the usual trains, just three cars and the engine. It must have been a special from the capital, sent to bring the archbishop and the count to Port Angelo to tell Gerard he was king and bring him back. 

The doors to the middle car were open, so Frank went into that one. Frank knew what train cars were like from reading, and this one didn't have the private compartments of a first class carriage, or even the rows of seats of a regular train car. It looked like a drawing room.

The carpets were thick and there was a crystal chandelier in the middle of the ceiling and more gas lamps on the walls. There were sofas, arm chairs, and small tables scattered around, even a small pianoforte. There were potted plants and lots of gilt, and all the fabrics looked expensive.

The archbishop was already settled into a plush armchair with a newspaper, and Count Szerlim was sitting at a small table with a sheaf of documents. He looked up briefly when Frank came in, but made no sign he'd seen Frank. At least Frank was in the right place.

He sat on the most comfortable-looking sofa and settled the puppy in his lap. A waiter appeared and Frank ordered coffee, since Gerard was going to do it as soon as he arrived anyway.

Finally Their Highnesses appeared, herded by Ray. They came and sat near Frank, and the door was shut. A few minutes later the whistle blew and the train lurched in a very alarming way. Frank accidentally squeezed Sweet Pea until she yipped. Mikey took her away.

"Have you ever been on a train before?" Gerard asked. Frank shook his head, watching Mikey making the puppy a bed on an armchair, which he turned to face the wall. It would contain her a little. 

Gerard took his hand and squeezed it. "Well, that's normal. Stopping will be softer." 

The coffee arrived— one of the cars must be a dining car— and Gerard brightened. "What did they say?" Frank asked, keeping his voice low to make sure the Count couldn't hear.

"Hmm?" Gerard was too busy drinking coffee to articulate.

"The people you talked to. In the crowd?"

"Oh," Gerard lowered his cup into the saucer with a quiet clink. "They gave me their condolences. And wished me luck." He tried a little, flickering half-smile.

Frank smiled back and gently squeezed Gerard's knee. "I'm glad."

 

They were all quiet on the ride. They took off their outer coats and hats and gloves, and Frank got Gerard to lie down after a while by putting a pillow in his lap and pulling Gerard down until his head was on it. Gerard didn't think he'd sleep— and after all that coffee Frank didn't expect him to— but lying down was better than nothing.

Frank was content to look out the window, seeing parts of Illyria he'd never seen before. He watched the scenery he'd been looking at his whole life change from littoral plain to farmland as they followed a thick ribbon of river north. The scenery changed to forest and stayed forest for a long time. He saw the occasional medieval bell tower in the distance, but mostly it was trees and snow.

After two hours the foothills appeared in the distance. Another hour and they were climbing. Frank watched huge, white-cloaked mountains come into view, the biggest things he'd ever seen that weren't the sea. They went up and up, and Frank couldn't take his eyes off them.

They were headed right for a hill and suddenly they were plunged into darkness. All the lamps inside the carriage remained lit, but it still felt very dark, with nothing but black outside the window.

Gerard opened his eyes and looked up at Frank. "Are we in the tunnel?"

Frank nodded. Where else could they be?

"Yes," Mikey said. "We're almost there."

Gerard sat up then, rubbing his hands across his face and attempting to smooth back his hair for once.

Frank felt jittery with nerves all over again. Aquileia. The capital.

They exploded into the sunlight, or at least it felt that way to Frank. The train tracks here were still surrounded by brick walls, but there were buildings up above them. 

It was not a long trip to the station, and most of it was spent getting outer wear back on. Frank woke up the puppy and tucked her in his coat after Ray said it would be quite a bit colder here. Frank put his hat on and pulled it low over his eyes.

He grabbed onto the back of a chair as the train slowed, but as promised, the stop was gentler than the start. Gerard touched his back, resting a hand there for a moment, before moving to the door. Mikey followed him. The door opened and Gerard stepped down. Frank let the noblemen off first and slipped off with Ray.

They were inside a building, with lots of iron and frosted glass high over head, and it was quite chilly. Parts of the station were roped off and Frank followed along. He didn't want Gerard and Mikey to get too far ahead.

In front of the station was a series of carriages. One of them was open. Frank had a sinking feeling about that. Riding with Gerard and Mikey in a closed carriage was one thing, but an open carriage put him on public display as someone important. Frank didn't think he was ready for that, even if he was allowed.

He looked at Ray, who also looked like he had misgivings about the carriage. But people had gathered to greet them— to greet Gerard and Mikey— and they were chanting "Long live the king!" Gerard looked amazed, even glowing, and Frank was very happy for him.

The royal guards here didn't let Gerard come up close and shake anyone's hands, so Gerard just waved. He climbed in the open carriage like a good sport and waved some more. People were cheering with some enthusiasm. Mikey got in the carriage with Gerard and even gave a sort of wave of his own.

Ray and Frank exchanged a grin. "Come on," Ray nudged Frank's arm. "Let's get in the one right behind them."

Frank, juggling the puppy, climbed in the first closed carriage. He expected Ray to get in after him, but someone was speaking to him. Ray looked at Frank, and he looked worried, but then he left.

"What the hell..?" Frank tried to lean out, but someone was climbing in, blocking the door, and it was Count Szerlim.

 

"Mr. Iero," Szerlim said. "I thought we might have a few words on the way to the palace."

"Of course," Frank said. What else could he say? He felt Sweet Pea burrowing in closer to his heart. He hugged her close.

Szerlim just sat and looked at Frank for a moment. Frank met his gaze evenly. 

"His Majesty seems very fond of you," Szerlim said. Frank said nothing. He knew that. "In the spirit of the king's best interest, allow me to give you some advice."

"Advice?" Frank raised an eyebrow. "Or a warning?"

Szerlim's features curled a very little in distaste. "I don't need to resort to threats, Mr. Iero. This is friendly advice. You are none of my business, providing you don't cause any problems or distractions for His Majesty."

Frank started to object but Szerlim held up a hand. "Please let me finish. The king has the right to take anyone he wants to his bed. Which is something you would do very well to remember."

Frank realized he was gaping and shut his mouth.

"If you were a female," Szerlim sighed, "you might perhaps be given an official title of mistress, but you would still not be in a position to marry him. But as things are, you can have no official title or position. Mr. Toro told me you had no ambitions; I hope for your sake that is true. If you keep to your place, you may avoid attracting attention. I'm sure you realize this would be the best thing for the king. Do you think those people out there would be cheering him if they knew what you are? 

"Do keep in mind, young man, that at court, every unmarried young lady— and quite a few of the married ones— will be throwing themselves at the king at every opportunity. Once His Majesty's— shall we say 'preferred taste'?— is discovered, quite a few young men will be throwing themselves his way as well. Many of them very good looking, with a similar background, taste, and education level as the king. Anything for preferment, as they say, eh?"

Frank had nothing to say. Szerlim seemed to approve. "Keep in mind you have no claim to him, and never will. You are only a stable boy from the country. You are very lucky to be here, and you would do well to keep that in mind. I can't imagine there's a real place for you here, but His Majesty is very kind."

"You don't know anything—" Frank said hotly, appalled.

Szerlim's voice was like a whip-crack. "I have known the archduke since birth, boy, longer than you've been alive." He modulated his tone as he continued. "As it is my intention to never repeat this conversation, I will be as blunt as I possibly can. I'm sure you were the most attractive stable boy at Sudagio, young man, but you are no longer at Sudagio." He paused for a moment, to let his words ring in the carriage. Which they did very well. "And I cannot imagine what you can possibly offer His Majesty that he does not already… possess." His mouth curled up in distaste at having to reference, however obliquely, the actual fact of Frank's relationship with Gerard.

"I say all this for your own benefit, Mr. Iero," the Count concluded. His tone was almost avuncular, instead of infuriatingly patronizing.

Frank's skin was crawling. He wanted to punch Szerlim, but oddly, thought the old man actually did think he was doing Frank a favor. He was terribly wrong, of course— he didn't know them at all— but… he was wrong, wasn't he? 

Frank hadn't had a lot of competition in Krillij. None, as far as he knew. Gerard had chased him, Frank had let himself be caught, they'd lived happily ever since. Now Gerard was the king, and people were going to be after him, and not even because they liked him. What was this place like?

"Thank you for your advice," Frank said carefully. "I will keep it in mind."

"I'm glad to hear it," Szerlim said. "I don't usually gad about dispensing advice to boys."

People actually said _gad about?_

"If you don't mind me asking—" Szerlim said hesitantly.

Frank's eyes widened. What now?

"What on earth is happening in your coat?"

"What? Oh." He realized there was a writhing bulge under his arm. "That's my puppy."

"Your puppy."

"Sweet Pea." He unbuttoned his coat enough to let her poke her head out.

"Ah," Szerlim sat back a little. "How, ah, charming."

Frank smiled to himself and buttoned his coat back up. He felt completely rattled. He didn't know how he felt about Szerlim. He didn't trust him and didn't like him, but perhaps he wasn't outright evil, either.

It was only another few minutes until the carriage stopped, thankfully. Frank allowed the count to disembark first, of course, before carefully climbing out without dropping the puppy. They were in a courtyard. Frank spun around, looking up at the buildings. They were pretty but told him nothing about what was inside.

"Frank!"

He stopped spinning and found Gerard, who was standing on some steps with Mikey. Another carriage pulled up, and Ray climbed out. He hurried over to Frank.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Frank said, and when Ray still looked worried, he added "I'll tell you later."

When they joined Gerard and Mikey on the steps, Gerard said "Welcome to Aqua Brava Palace." He waved an arm— Gerard never could resist showing off— and the doors opened.

Frank only realized he'd been expecting Gerard to take his hand when Gerard touched his elbow instead, guiding him in.

There were lots of people inside, most of them servants. The butler of the whole palace stepped up and gave some sort of introductory welcome back speech to Gerard and Mikey. 

There was something about Gerard's temporary apartments, until the King's Chambers could be redecorated, and then someone told Gerard and Mikey the queen was waiting for them.

Just like that, they disappeared, taken off by a large contingent of palace servants and lords down a dark corridor.

"Right," said the butler. "Which of you is Mr. Toro?"

Ray identified himself, and the butler began a rapid-fire series of questions. Frank concentrated on getting the puppy out of his coat without dropping her. 

His attention was pulled back when Ray said "Oh, for personal questions, Mr. Iero here—" he patted Frank's shoulder— "can answer those."

Frank looked up, startled. "Excellent," the butler said. "Mr. Simon, show Mr. Iero the King's temporary apartments. I will leave it to you both to make sure everything is ready for His Majesty tonight."

Ray gave Frank an apologetic look, so Frank tried not to glare too much.

"This way, Mr. Iero." Frank followed a man closer to his own age with rather surprisingly untidy hair and a trace of stubble. Well, it was early, and Frank didn't mind. He was wearing a suit like a butler, not a footman. "Nice dog."

"Thanks." Frank felt numb, and like if he stopped being numb he might start panicking. They didn't talk until Mr. Simon stopped before a set of doors, at least three hallways later. Frank was hopelessly lost.

"These are usually guest apartments for very high-ranking visitors," Mr. Simon explained. "We'd figured they'd do until the royal apartments are redecorated."

He opened the door and let Frank walk in first. "This is the salon," Simon said. He walked across the room and opened more doors, Frank belatedly following to stick his head through.

"This is the office, there's a closet here, and this is the bedroom." They both went in and Mr. Simon pointed out the dressing room. Frank put the puppy down and let her sniff around, keeping a close eye on her to make sure she didn't do something embarrassing.

"Shall we go find you a room now?" Simon asked.

"What?"

"A room in the servant's wing? You are the valet, aren't you?"

Frank felt his cheeks growing warm and cursed himself. "I'm not a valet," he said quietly.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry, sir. I—" Simon seemed even more confused than Frank. "I thought you were the valet. Obviously. Um. What are you?"

 _What are you?_ Frank had never had to answer that before. He didn't know what to say. Sweet Pea rescued him by starting to crawl under the bed. He ran across and pulled her out.

"Sorry, sir," Simon tried again, "But are you upstairs or downstairs?"

"I'm not a servant," Frank said finally.

Now Simon looked extremely embarrassed. "I've very sorry for the mistake, sir. No, of course, I can see that now."

He meant the clothes, Frank realized. A valet _wouldn't_ dress like this, that was true.

"I hope I haven't offended you, sir."

"No," Frank said. "No, that's fine. Don't worry."

Simon smiled at him hopefully. "So, shall we get you a room then, sir? Not with the servants, obviously, but in a nearby room?"

And now it was awkward again. "No, that's all right," Frank said.

"Well, sir—" Simon shifted his weight around uncertainly, then seemed resolved to press ahead— "Where do you normally sleep, sir?"

Frank couldn't stop himself glancing at the bed. "Here," he admitted.

Simon frowned. "Do you mean in an attached room? These apartments don't come equipped with that, but we could move to—"

"No, that's all right. Look," Frank sounded desperate even to himself, "I'll sort myself out, all right? Don't worry about it."

Simon frowned. "If you're quite sure, sir..?"

"I am. Let's just move on. Ah, did you have other questions?"

"If you insist, sir. Who is the king's valet, then?"

Once Frank explained Gerard didn't have one, Simon said he'd been told to act as valet until the king appointed his own, if necessary.

"That's fine," Frank said. He was thinking, belatedly, that he should have let Simon give him his own room. It would have been much less suspicious, and as long as it was nearby, he could find Gerard. But he'd been panicking, rattled by the conversation with Szerlim and still thinking of Ray's warning not to let the count separate Frank from Gerard.

Simon wanted to know about Gerard's habits, and at least Frank was on solid footing there. He warned Simon that Gerard tended to stay up very late and sleep correspondingly late in the morning; that he would very often find charcoal stains on Gerard's cuffs; he even knew how warm Gerard liked his baths, on the occasions he could be persuaded to take them. He could tell Simon how Gerard liked his coffee and what to bring for breakfast, and that he should wait "until w— until His Majesty rings for it in the morning."

The valises showed up at some point, so that was nice. Frank let Simon unpack Gerard's. Frank knew, logically, that if Simon was Gerard's valet, for however short a time, he would figure out what Frank was, so he wasn't sure why he was trying to hide anything. The thing was, Frank had never said it out loud. Not to someone he didn't know, someone who didn't already know.

Frank was just starting to wonder what had happened to that breakfast hamper when Simon finished and asked if Frank would like some lunch. Frank gratefully accepted.

While the man was gone, Frank unpacked his own bag, at least to hang out his dinner clothes. Gerard and Mikey hated dressing for dinner, to the point where they only did it on special occasions, but Frank bet that in a palace, you dressed for dinner every night whether you liked it or not.

Simon came back with several footmen bearing more food than Frank could eat. He had a bowl for Sweet Pea, too, which made Frank think well of him.

"I've been informed that dinner tonight will be a private family affair," Simon said. "And in light of that, Mr. Toro asked if you would like to share dinner with him."

"Definitely yes," Frank said.

Frank didn't see Gerard the rest of the day. He managed to find a door— or at least a large French window— that led out into the gardens and took the puppy for a walk, careful to keep the right wing of the palace in sight at all times. It was very cold out, and snowy, but the sun was bright, and the overall effect very beautiful.

Frank dressed himself for dinner, of course, and a footman took him to Ray's apartments. Once they were alone, he told Ray most of what Szerlim had said in the carriage. Ray was unhappy and tried to apologize, but Frank waved him off. 

He'd been thinking about it all day— could hardly help thinking about it— and Frank had come to the conclusion that he really didn't know what he was getting himself into here. They couldn't ever go back to how it been at Sudagio, not unless Frank wanted to go back there and wait for Gerard to visit him. And that was just unacceptable. No, if Frank wanted to stay with Gerard— and he wanted that more than anything— he'd have to accept the change and figure out how to survive this.

Frank spent several hours on the sofa in front of the fire in Gerard's salon. The puppy had long since gone to sleep and Frank's mind had finally started to wind down enough he might actually be able to fall asleep. He'd slipped into less a doze than a trance induced by watching the fire, when the door opened and Gerard finally came in.

He looked worn out, wan and rumpled in a flat way, instead of his usual too-busy-to-care way. He stumbled in and stopped just inside the door, looking around in confusion.

Frank sat up so he was clearly visible above the sofa. Gerard turned toward the movement. "Oh, thank God," he said, and stumbled across the room. He barely made it to the sofa before collapsing in Frank's arms.

"Hey, hey," Frank whispered, as Gerard burrowed his face into Frank's neck. They fell back onto the sofa, and Frank squeezed Gerard tightly. Gerard wrapped his fists in Frank's shirt and let loose a shuddery sigh.

"Long day?" Frank guessed.

Gerard whimpered, and Frank ran a hand through his hair. Gerard finally turned his head to the side, so his lips brushed Frank's neck when he spoke. "My mother, Frank, God."

"How is she?"

Gerard shrugged. "She miraculously had no recollection of the past six years," he said wryly. 

"Like they never happened?"

Gerard nodded and kept his face pressed against Frank. "Perhaps she didn't know what to say," Frank suggested.

"Humph," Gerard grunted dismissively. "She always knows what to say, trust me. Never at a loss for words, that woman."

Frank thought Gerard must take after her, but didn't think Gerard would appreciate that particular observation at this moment.

Gerard relaxed again and the room sank into silence. Gerard was also getting heavier and heavier lying atop Frank.

"Hey," Frank said, gently, and pushed Gerard's hair behind his ear. "Don't fall asleep here." Gerard only groaned and made no move to get up. "Come on," Frank coaxed, rubbing his hand along Gerard's arm to try and invigorate him. "There's a real bed in the other room, I promise."

It took a bit more coaxing before Gerard agreed to move. The bed had been turned down at some point so Frank just pulled most of Gerard's clothes off him before letting him tumble on the bed and crawl under the covers. Frank joined him a few minutes later. Gerard pulled him close and they settled into comfortable positions. For once, Gerard fell asleep almost instantly. Frank spent the last few minutes he was awake glad that this, at least, was still familiar and unchanged.

_Chapter 3_

When Frank opened his eyes the next morning, Gerard was propped up on one arm, watching him. He also looked slightly guilty, and Frank suspected Gerard had been doing everything short of shaking him and yelling in his ear to get him to wake up. Frank narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Good morning," Gerard said with a smile.

"Hello." Frank's voice was thick and scratchy. As he cleared it, Gerard rolled on top of him and kissed him, hard and hungry. Frank knew it really hadn't been that long, but so much had happened it _felt_ like forever. He was suddenly as frantic as Gerard, grabbing at Gerard's shirt to pull him close. Gerard rolled his hips against Frank's and Frank groaned into his mouth.

It was now very hot under the covers and Frank kicked them off. Gerard was whimpering as he licked around Frank's mouth. It felt like it had been forever since they'd even kissed. Frank wouldn't have minded taking this slower, really, but it was too late now. He felt too frantic to stop or even slow down, and Gerard seemed to feel the same.

They pushed their clothes off or out of the way and Frank couldn't help his loud groan when their cocks slid together. If he ever got tired of this, he might as well be dead. "Fuck, fuck, yes," Gerard was saying. He licked at the sweat pooling in the hollow between Frank's collarbones and then up his neck. "God, Frankie, I missed you."

"Missed you too," Frank managed to get out, although he was mostly focused on getting more friction. Gerard finally wrapped a hand around both their cocks, jerking them off together. They came almost at the same time, and Gerard muffled his shout by biting Frank's shoulder.

Gerard left his head on Frank's shoulder as they came down. Frank kept his mouth pressed to Gerard's messy hair. They were going to stick together but he didn't care. Everything seemed particularly wonderful, just now.

"Fuck, I needed that," Gerard sighed. "Needed you."

Frank hummed happily and rubbed his chin on the top of Gerard's head.

"I have to make sure I get back earlier tonight," Gerard mused. He turned his head and bit lightly at Frank's nipple. "I wanna fuck you." 

"Fuck. Fuck _yes_ you should." Frank rubbed an arm down Gerard's back.

After a few minutes they got up, and Frank sent Gerard off to wash up. He rang the bell pull in the corner. He'd expected it to take a few minutes for Simon to show up, but the valet stepped into the salon almost at once.

Frank immediately shut— well, slammed— the doors to the bedroom, since they'd left them open last night. Frank still had come on his stomach, for fuck's sake. "Coffee," he shouted through the door. "And breakfast."

"Yes, sir." Simon's voice was neutral, even though the list of reasons why Frank would be in Gerard's bedroom before breakfast had to be very short. Frank could only think of one, himself.

Gerard wandered about, examining the apartment as Frank washed and dressed. "I think at least some of our trunks will come today, don't you?" Frank asked.

Gerard didn't answer, so Frank went looking for him. Simon had returned with the breakfast tray and was laying it out on a table. Gerard already had his face in a cup of coffee, which explained his silence.

Gerard looked much better today than he had any time yesterday. Frank took some pride in the fact that he was responsible for the color in Gerard's face and the sparkle in his eye.

Well, mostly. "This is wonderful coffee," Gerard gushed. "It's perfect."

"Thank you, sire," Simon said modestly. He nodded at Frank. "Mr. Iero was most helpfully specific yesterday."

Simon seemed like he was still friendly enough, so Frank smiled tentatively. Gerard turned to beam at Frank and Frank took that as his cue to join Gerard at the table.

There was another cup, of course, and Simon had it filled by the time Frank sat down. "Unfortunately Mr. Iero neglected to inform me yesterday of his own preferences."

Gerard gave Frank a coy look over the edge of his cup and Frank struggled to hold in a giggle. He finally gave instructions to Simon and got his coffee. Frank decided he liked Simon, at least for now.

Over breakfast, Gerard began filling Frank in on what had happened the day before. There had been time with his mother and Mikey (Gerard was vague on what they had talked about), and then Gerard had had to meet, or re-meet, all his father's advisors. Nobles had come from left and right to express their condolences. As Gerard put it, it was a lot of having his hand kissed.

"Today I have to meet with the Cabinet," he complained. "Just to meet them. Once I'm crowned, I have to reconfirm all their appointments, too."

"What are the plans for your coronation?" Frank asked. It was the right thing to ask. Gerard's face lit up and he began talking a mile a minute.

"It'll be on Saturday, so three days after the funeral, and obviously there's all sorts of things that _have_ to be done because they're tradition or whatever, but there's also lots of room to modernize and personalize." Gerard was enthusiastic about bunting for the next ten minutes. Frank didn't bother to hide his smile, since Gerard wouldn't really notice, and it was nice to see Gerard acting like himself.

Sweet Pea discovered them and begged at the table. Frank didn't want to encourage this and told her no, but of course Gerard absent-mindedly gave her bacon two minutes later. When Frank sighed pointedly, Gerard either ignored him or didn't notice.

Eventually Simon came back and reminded Gerard he was supposed to meet Mr. Toro at nine.

Frank tried not to look too disappointed— Ray would apparently be busy today.

"Oh, Frank?" When Frank looked up, he saw Simon was trying to brush crumbs off Gerard while Gerard tried to dodge around him. "I'd like you to have tea with us today," Gerard said.

"Us?"

"Just the family," Gerard said casually, like that was in any way reassuring.

"Of course," Frank said, because there was nothing else to say.

Gerard beamed at him, looked at the clock with a wince, and called out "I'll see you then!" as he rushed out the door.

"Tea will be at four," Simon said helpfully. "Her Majesty is very prompt."

So. Frank was going to meet Gerard's mother. "Will she notice if I show up drunk?" Frank wondered.

He meant it to himself, but Simon couldn't help but hear, of course, as he was clearing the table. "Probably more effective if you spike the tea once you're there, sir," he muttered.

Frank did appreciate Simon trying to cheer him up. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry that you've got, well, double valet duty here. You don't have to worry about dressing me or anything. I can look after myself."

Simon looked a bit skeptical. "If you say so, sir."

"I know how to get dressed," Frank snapped.

"Well _basically,_ yes," Simon agreed. "And you have nice quality suits. Still…" he stood back and looked at Frank critically.

Frank hadn't finished getting dressed yet this morning, and he pulled at his loose cuffs self-consciously.

"I'll have to think about it," Simon declared.

"What? Think about what?"

"What it is that's off."

Frank opened his mouth then shut it. He knew what was off. He was dressed like a gentleman but wasn't one, and everyone could tell the difference. 

"Are you planning on staying in here much longer?" Simon asked briskly. "It's just the maids want to come in and clean, sir."

Frank had no idea where else he should go. "I guess I'll take the puppy on a walk around the grounds," he said. 

"Very good, sir."

It was cold, though, so Frank didn't know how long that could last. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. Not just today. What the hell was he supposed to do with his days while he was waiting for Gerard?

"You could host salons, sir."

"What?"

"Salons. Like Madame de Pompadour."

Frank stared, shocked, at Simon. The valet was standing with a perfectly calm face and wide eyes. A bit too wide.

Frank narrowed his eyes. "You're fucking with me."

Simon's mouth twitched. 

"I can't believe you're fucking with me," Frank said, but he was starting to laugh. It was actually rather comforting. "Just for that, you have to help me dress for tea."

"My pleasure, sir," Simon bowed and disappeared with the breakfast tray.

 

Frank was a bit braver on his walk today. They still didn't go far, because it was quite cold and Sweet Pea was very small, but he got a better feel for how extensive the grounds were. Sudagio had large grounds but the formal gardens weren't extensive. Not like this.

He went back in and carried the puppy as he wandered around the palace a bit. He spent most of the time lost, but there was always someone to help point him the right direction. He ate lunch by himself and then the first shipment of their trunks arrived.

He and Simon spent the afternoon sorting through them and unpacking. "I was thinking about what you said yesterday," he said to Simon. "About me having my own room?"

"Yes, sir?" Simon's voice was carefully neutral.

"I suppose it might not be a bad idea," Frank said carefully. "If it was nearby."

"Of course, sir," Simon said immediately. "You could have your own closet."

Frank smiled weakly. He didn't care about a closet, or even really want his own room, but it seemed like it would relieve a lot of awkwardness. No one said he had to use it.

"Madame de Pompadour had her own palace," Simon said.

"We can get a new valet," Frank responded. "Any time we want."

"Yes, sir."

 

Simon went through all Frank's suits (which weren't actually that many) and picked his best frock coat for tea. "You'll have to have a lot of new clothes made to keep up at court," Simon warned him.

Simon escorted him to the correct drawing room personally, which Frank knew was definitely not part of his job description. Frank was very grateful. He was lonely here— he missed Chloe and his kitchen girls back home— and he needed a friend. He probably wasn't supposed to be making friends with the servants, but that was the class of people Frank knew best, the class he really belonged to anyway.

Frank was pleased to see Gerard and Mikey again, even if Gerard had lost this morning's sparkle. They both looked pleased to see Frank, too. Frank was thrown quite off balance, however, by the amount of people present for a "family" tea. There were servants, of course, and the Queen Mother seemed to have all her women with her, and there were several other older people Frank didn't recognize at all.

Frank had long since stopped showing due deference to Gerard; as such it did not enter his head to bow to him immediately when he entered the room. The consequence of this infamous behavior was cold disapproval radiating from everyone in the room who was not Gerard and Mikey. It took Frank several desperate minutes, however, to work out what he'd done wrong. And then he was mortified and at a loss how to correct the situation. Gerard did not seem to notice.

Gerard eagerly introduced Frank to his mother, and Frank certainly did bow to her. She _looked_ terrifying. Her hair was white and piled atop her head like a figure from the last century. Her mouth turned down, and although she nodded when Gerard presented him, she did not look at him again and obviously would rather have never set eyes on him, let alone take tea with him.

Mikey shot Frank apologetic looks and Gerard, not at all insensible to his mother's disapproval, grew withdrawn and even sullen. Once everyone gave up trying to make conversation it was easier. They sat and drank their tea and tried to nibble sandwiches and pastries for an hour. It was a relief when the clock rang five o'clock.

Gerard and Mikey left with Frank. "I'm sorry," Gerard said miserably, as soon as they cleared the room. "I didn't realize it was going to be quite such a disaster."

"It wasn't your fault," Frank said. He wanted to take Gerard's hand, but after the past hour didn't quite dare to do anything.

Gerard left to see someone about preparations for the coronation or the funeral or both. Mikey invited Frank to see his rooms and Frank accepted eagerly. He'd missed Mikey, too. 

Mikey's rooms were apparently the rooms he'd had since leaving the nursery. They were quite far from Gerard's current rooms, but would be close once the King's Chambers were redone.

"Don't worry about my mother," Mikey said, offering Frank a brandy. "You never had a chance with her. She'd disapprove of anyone Gerard was with short of a Habsburg princess."

Frank was so far from being a Habsburg princess it wasn't funny. He let Mikey refill his glass.

"I should have remembered to bow to Gerard," he said gloomily.

"Well, yes," Mikey smirked. "But don't worry too much about it. It was only a family tea. I went to the Cabinet meeting yesterday and called him 'Gee.'"

 _Yes,_ Frank thought, _but you're a Grand Duke, not the catamite stable boy._ He knew Gerard would be angry if he knew Frank was thinking that way, but Frank was quite certain that was what everyone else here thought of him, if they thought of him at all.

Mikey summoned a footman to escort Frank back. Simon appeared in the room shortly after Frank reached it.

"How did it go? Never mind, you're already into the brandy. Can't have been good."

Frank laughed without humor. "I forgot to bow. His mother hates me and is probably plotting my poisoning as we speak."

"Now, sir," Simon said, "I'm sure that's not true. Her Majesty swore off poisoning ten years ago."

"I wish I believed you," Frank said morosely. He intended to sulk and no amount of jokes by Simon, or face-licking by Sweet Pea, was going to jolly him out of it. Well, not _completely._

 

Gerard came back to dress for dinner and found Frank sitting on the bed, still brooding. He sat himself very nearly in Frank's lap. "It could have been worse," Gerard said. Frank cocked an eyebrow. "No china got broken," Gerard pointed out. He seemed to be in a better mood now, and slid his arm across Frank's shoulders.

"I'm sorry I didn't bow," Frank said.

Gerard snorted and waved that off. "You think I care about that?"

"No," Frank said. "I don't think _you_ care. But I think everyone else does."

"So what?" Gerard said, with an exaggerated toss of his head. "You know the nice thing about being king?" His hand started sliding up Frank's thigh. _"I don't have to care what anyone else thinks!"_ Gerard pronounced the last sentence is a sort of conspiratorial whisper, and pushed Frank onto his back, Gerard landing on top of him. Frank couldn't help laughing, even though he knew it wasn't quite true.

"I'll just come back later, shall I?" Simon said.

"Now everyone thinks badly of me," Frank pointed out, trying to keep Gerard's hands from sliding under his fresh shirt and rumpling him past repair. 

"Forget what they think. What they know," Gerard's voice was low and growly and went straight from Frank's ear to the bottom of his stomach, "is that you're the sort of person who doesn't have to bow every time he sees me. You think Mikey bows every time we meet? You think my _mother_ does?"

"Please don't talk about your mother when your hand's doing that," Frank gasped.

Gerard chuckled, and it registered as a low curl of heat in Frank's stomach. "They don't know anything they weren't going to find out eventually. Forget about it, Frankie." He sucked on Frank's earlobe for a moment. "Put it out of your mind."

This was becoming easier and easier. Frank turned his head and kissed Gerard. He got all caught up in the tangle of lips and Gerard's hot, sweet mouth and clever tongue. Frank only realized how long they'd been rolling around on the bed when a knock on the door interrupted them.

"I'm very sorry, sire," Simon said, through the door. "But if you don't get dressed now you'll be very late."

Gerard rolled off Frank with a whiny groan. "Come in," he called, and they both got up. Frank tried to straighten his suit. Simon took one look at him and sighed.

"And now you'll be very late," he said, "because you've ruined Mr. Iero's suit, as well."

"Bugger Mr. Iero's suit," Gerard said, but obediently followed Simon to the dressing room.

Frank looked at himself in a mirror, shrugged, and went into the dressing room as well, to either hamper or help, depending on his mood.

Of course "very late" was subjective, since dinner couldn't start until the king arrived. It didn't save them from the Queen Mother's disapproving looks, but as twenty-five people had been invited for dinner, Frank made sure to get lost in the crowd.

He was seated in a sort of desolate place far from Gerard or Mikey. On Frank's right was a very elderly gentleman who was quite deaf; he also had none of his real teeth, as was revealed to Frank later during an unfortunate toffee incident. On Frank's left was a duchess who turned out to be Gerard and Mikey's cousin. She could not be said to be either pretty or striking, and upon finding out that Frank was nobody, she turned away and did not speak to him for the rest of the night.

That suited Frank, who was content to keep his head down and eat. He did keep an eye on Gerard, who seemed to be in a sparkling mood and who had Count Szerlim on his left and a very handsome woman on his right. Of course, Gerard could make a dinner party of Trappist monks seem lively if he was in the mood for it. Mikey was entirely surrounded by pretty girls; Frank felt this was somewhat unjust. Where had all these pretty girls come from, anyway? 

He pushed his food around a bit and missed his kitchen maids at Sudagio. If he ever felt unhappy there, he'd go see them and be given biscuits and pets. He didn't even know where the kitchens were here, and doubted anyone in them would be happy to see him.

The highlight of the dinner, for Frank, came before the fruit course, when someone down the table a bit asked Gerard if he would fancy a game of something-or-other that night. Mikey had already been prevailed upon by the ladies to join.

"Oh no, I must pass tonight," Gerard said, and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "I have intended an early evening." As he spoke, his eyes caught Frank's for a few seconds; just long enough for Frank to be sure Gerard was thinking of his promise to fuck Frank tonight.

Frank looked down at his plate quickly, hoping he wasn't blushing, or that if he was, no one was looking, and smiled.

 

Once the ladies left, Frank relaxed a little, now that he could be sure the Queen Mother wasn't watching him. The conversation was interminable and Frank continued to say nothing. Neither Gerard nor Mikey tried to draw him into the conversation, and so everyone else ignored him (Szerlim also seemed to content to ignore Frank if he could, and Frank was grateful).

At last Gerard arose, and that meant they all got to leave. Frank hovered by the door of the grand drawing room as Gerard wished certain people good night. This ended up taking a while, and Frank had zoned out, staring at a picture of one of Gerard's ancestors with truly impressive mustachios.

"Like it?" Gerard was suddenly speaking right in his ear. Frank jumped a little, and he didn't have to look to know Gerard was smirking.

"How do you think I'd look with mustaches like that?" Frank asked.

"I think the idea of you resembling my grandfather in any way is horrifying," Gerard said. He slid his fingers around Frank's wrist where his hands were clasped behind his back. "Let's go," Gerard whispered.

They tried to act serious and stately for about thirty seconds; then they were giggling and running down the corridors. Frank's heart was already pounding, and he thought he was tingling in anticipation. Alone with Gerard. _Time_ alone with Gerard.

In the salon, the lamps were dark and the fire had already been banked. The fire in the bedroom was set for the night and the bed was turned down. And then Frank froze, because he suddenly remembered he had not packed any of the oil they used for this, and had neglected to get any more here. And yet… there was actually a small bottle of something on one of the night stands. Frank relaxed, took a deep breath, and reminded himself to give Simon a big tip.

Gerard was busy pulling Frank into the room, putting the puppy out, and shutting the doors. He grabbed Frank and bent him back over his arm as he kissed him, until Frank started laughing and he had to leave off.

They pulled off their clothes and tumbled into bed.

Frank _loved_ getting fucked by Gerard. He liked fucking Gerard too, of course, but they didn't do that as often, for one reason or another. In the beginning, Gerard had been very careful with him, all "tell me if it hurts, or even if you just don't like it" and "I'll stop whenever you want me to, just say it, don't worry." Frank understood why— they were so unequal— and he did appreciate Gerard giving him that power.

But because of that, in a way, Frank had come to really feel like Gerard's equal only when Gerard did let go, did just take what he wanted without checking with Frank a million times first, because then he knew Frank and trusted him, knew Frank could and would take it. 

And anyway, Frank did belong to Gerard, so why shouldn't Gerard take what he wanted? When Gerard was inside him, and Frank felt like he was going to split apart, like the only thing holding him together was Gerard's hands on him, that was when he felt like Gerard really belonged to him, too.

_Chapter 4_

The rest of the week passed in a similar way. Frank saw Gerard after waiting up for him at night and a bit in the morning, although usually Gerard was too exhausted to do more than curl up against Frank's side. When Simon mentioned finding Frank a room, Frank demurred. He felt anxious about creating any more separation between himself and Gerard, even if it was purely symbolic. He told Simon he didn't know how to bring it up to Gerard without causing offense.

Wednesday was the funeral. Frank didn't go.

He didn't really mind not going, although he felt a little bothered when he learned Ray was going. On the whole, though, he reminded himself that he hardly knew any one, he wouldn't be anywhere near Gerard or Mikey, and he just… didn't fit. 

He was starting to understand the count's point about it being easier for a woman, who could at least be the official mistress. Frank had no title, and titles were everything here. Frank had no rank, so no one knew how to treat him or where he fit. Right now, he was just the boy who slept in the archduke's bed. And today, he was staying behind with the servants.

The day was overcast and cold with a bitter wind, so Frank stayed inside. He could find the library on his own now, and he sat curled up by the fire in their salon, pretending he was reading. He finally admitted to himself that he was brooding and let his thoughts chase each other around in endless, fruitless circles.

Simon came in and talked to him now and then, but Frank wasn't much in the mood for company. Gerard did not return until after midnight. He looked like a ghost himself. They barely spoke until they were abed and it was dark and quiet.

"Are you all right?" Frank asked, a whisper in the dark.

"It's over," Gerard sighed. He was quiet so long Frank thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he sighed again and added "I just feel numb."

The next two days continued to be lonely and fairly miserable for Frank. He told himself it was just because Gerard was so busy now, and it would die down soon. But a little voice at the back of his head kept arguing that Gerard was king now, and it would always be like this.

The coronation was Saturday. On Friday night was a smallish dinner like the one Frank had been to before; this one was much the same. After dinner Frank was able to ask Gerard how he was; Gerard was able to say "I wish I was alone with you," before they were interrupted.

It was enough to make Frank feel better about the evening, and he actually got in a game of backgammon with Mikey, who Frank hadn't seen for absolute ages.

When they ended up back in their room that night, Gerard put his hands on Frank's waist and kissed him for a few minutes. Then he leaned his head against Frank's and said unhappily "I wish I wasn't so tired."

"I know," Frank said gently, rubbing the back of Gerard's neck. "It's okay. Hey, at least you haven't had insomnia?" He tried to smile at Gerard but Gerard grimaced and looked away.

"You have?" Frank said, shocked. "I didn't… I'm sorry." He frowned. "I didn't know."

"Don't _you_ worry about it," Gerard said. "I haven't been doing the things I usually do when I can't sleep— reading or drawing or whatnot. I'm too tired to move, even if I can't sleep."

Frank sighed, moving his hands restlessly over Gerard's arms. "Well, get in bed now and try," was all he could think of to say.

The morning of the coronation, Frank woke up to Gerard being handsy. The room was warm and Frank stretched and hummed his approval. Gerard immediately started rooting around Frank's nightclothes until he could wrap a hand around Frank's cock. Frank hissed in pleasure and thrust into Gerard's hand.

They were just settling into a rhythm when there was a rather loud knocking on the door, and they froze. "Time to get up, Your Majesty," Simon called. "We need all the time we can get."

Frank briefly thought about throwing the lamp at the door. Gerard made an unhappy whimper, and then whispered "Maybe if we're completely silent, they won't know we're in here."

Of course that just made Frank snort and giggle, and then there was another firm knock in the door. "Don't make me come in there after you," Ray said.

Ray they were afraid of. Gerard uncurled his hand with obvious reluctance and rolled away. "I'm up!" he shouted, and added, at a much lower volume, "motherfucker."

Frank rolled over and bit the pillow so he wouldn't scream. Motherfucker indeed.

 

Frank hurried and dressed himself while Gerard went off for a bath, arguing with Simon about its necessity. "Don't let him talk you out of it!" Frank shouted after them.

He sat next to Ray on one of the sofas, shooting him a dirty look. Ray folded his arms. "Don't blame me," he said. "Do you know how early _I_ had to get up?"

It was still dark outside, but it was a little more bearable once a maid showed up with coffee. They could hear Gerard cursing in a sulky voice in the other room, and rolled their eyes at each other.

"Do you know where I'm supposed to be for the ceremony?" Frank asked. He felt completely out of the loop.

Ray nodded, sipping at his second cup of coffee. "You're in the King's Box."

"Really?"

Ray glanced toward the bedroom doors, which were still shut, and lowered his voice. "He fought hard for you— and me— to be in there. It's family only, really, and he argued that _he_ should be the one to decide who counted as family, being the king and all. I'll be there too, but it was mostly for you."

Frank had no idea what to say to that. He felt vaguely like he'd been ungrateful, with all his sulking and whining about being lonely while Gerard was fighting so hard to get him a place.

Simon eventually appeared with a look of barely-suppressed triumph. "His Majesty the King of Illyria," Simon announced.

Gerard slid reluctantly around the door, fussing with his cuffs. Frank couldn't help but stare. "Don't laugh," Gerard warned.

"Of course not!" Ray said. Frank couldn't find his tongue; he seemed to have swallowed it.

Gerard was dressed in silk and velvet and gold— the ermine came later, apparently— and the suit was a deep purple and looked like it had fallen out of a painting from the last century. Or maybe a painting by Inge— someone really good at color and texture, anyway. The breeches and tights were doing very incredible things for Gerard's legs, and Frank kind of couldn't stop staring. He had on high-heeled shoes like an Enlightenment king, and Frank was briefly jealous of them.

Gerard's hair was not only washed but perfectly coiffed, and it even looked as if it had been trimmed so it framed his face instead of falling in it, which meant Simon could not be just a mere mortal. Frank swore he was going to find some way to keep Simon forever.

"Well," Gerard said, "how do I look?"

Ray said something appropriate and sincere, of course. Frank just gave Gerard a look from under his lashes, hoping he was conveying everything he wanted to. The message seemed to get across; Gerard's cheeks pinked a little and he looked down and fiddled with his sash for no reason, looking pleased.

Simon hadn't missed the exchange either, and he had the temerity to lean over Frank's shoulder and whisper "Mr. Iero, I'm going to have to request that you stay out of arm's reach of His Majesty until after the ceremony."

"Oh fuck you," Frank whispered back, but he realized he was actually... happy. And excited.

Gerard then noticed there was coffee, and he indicated they had all committed an unforgivable betrayal by not bringing him some immediately.

"Did you sleep at all?" Frank asked quietly. Gerard looked away without speaking, so Frank had his answer. He couldn't help worrying.

"Let's go, then," Ray said, watching Gerard drain his cup. "The sooner we get to the cathedral the better."

Gerard wordlessly demanded a second cup. Frank prepared it for him and Gerard drank it as they walked out to the front of the palace. Gerard was riding in an open carriage with his mother and brother, but Frank got to ride with Ray, so he was happy enough.

The sun had risen while Gerard was getting dressed, and the sky was light blue. The light was still weak and it was cold, but Frank was glad it wasn't raining. Snowing on one's coronation day seemed all right, but he wouldn't want it to rain.

The ceremony was long and quite dull and they had to do a whole High Mass first in Latin. Frank was sitting right behind Mikey, though, so whenever he dared he kicked Mikey's chair.

Frank perked up when they got to the good bit, where Gerard ended up in a giant cloak and said the oath and received all sorts of glittery things. Finally, the archbishop put the crown on his head and that was it, Gerard was King of Illyria in the sight of God and man, and they all got to cheer.

Frank had held his breath during Gerard's responses, far more nervous for Gerard than he'd ever been for himself. Gerard should have looked funny, in his too-big cloak and his too-big crown, but he didn't. Frank found himself a little in awe, and it was hard to believe the man chosen by God to be King was the same one who got charcoal and ink all over himself and thought kissing Frank was an excellent use of his time.

But when the cheering started, the relief on Gerard's face was so familiar Frank just saw _his_ Gerard again, and then he felt incredibly happy and fiercely proud. He exchanged happy grins with Ray and Mikey.

There was a special antechamber for everyone in the King's Box to wait in; Gerard came in there almost immediately. His mother got him first of course, and Frank thought she looked discreetly teary. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, and Gerard looked so happy Frank told himself he really ought to find a way to get along with the Queen Mother.

Then Mikey got his turn, and Frank watched them whispering together as they embraced. He desperately wanted to join them but kept his place with Ray, against a wall. Gerard worked his way slowly around the room; the crowd was actually quite small, so Frank did not go completely crazy waiting for Gerard to get to them.

"I messed up," Gerard said, "in the third—"

"No you didn't," Frank interrupted.

"No one noticed but you," Ray reassured him.

Frank wanted very badly to hug and kiss Gerard too, but of course he couldn't, so he kept his hands behind his back and bounced in place as they all smiled helplessly at each other.

The rest of the day they were surrounded by people. People cheering in the streets and waving flags, people at the state dinner with the largest table Frank had ever seen, people at the ball afterward.

Frank was dressed nicely enough that no one questioned him, and a few people nodded in a friendly way. Perhaps they had seen him in the King's Box. Frank didn't have the slightest clue how to do any of the dances, but no one expected him to. Instead, he got to sit with Gerard and Mikey and Ray while servants brought them cake and champagne. There was a steady stream of people coming up to be introduced to Gerard, but Frank didn't pay attention to any of them; he got to sit in back and look arrogant and important, and no one spoke to him except to ask if he wanted more.

 

Back in their room, Gerard shut the bedroom door and pushed Frank up against it. He went straight for the spot behind Frank's ear that made his knees turn to jelly. Frank groaned and tilted his head to give Gerard better access. "Fucking finally," he sighed, and Gerard laughed.

He put his hands on Frank's hips and dropped to his knees, smiling a little to himself. Frank looked down at Gerard— usually he loved this view, but tonight it made him anxious.

"Should you be doing that?"

Gerard looked up at him, clearly startled. "What? Blowing you?"

"Well—" Frank shifted uneasily. His dick was screaming _shut up shut up what is wrong with you?_ , but his conscience was niggling at him. "I mean... you're the king now, and everything. You shouldn't be on your knees in front of me."

Gerard stared at him for a long handful of seconds, and then he started to laugh. He laughed so hard he let go of Frank and fell back on his ass, and laughed so long that Frank took offense. He folded his arms and stomped his foot a little. All right, it was funny, but it wasn't _that_ funny.

Gerard was holding his stomach and still giggling. "Good lord, Frank," he gasped, "shut up and let me suck your cock." But Gerard just stayed on the floor giggling, and Frank cursed all the champagne they'd had.

Frank decided he'd just ignore Gerard if he was going to behave like that, and started taking his clothes off and putting them away. He put on his dressing gown and came out of the dressing room to find Gerard still sprawled on the floor. He wasn't laughing anymore but a lazy smirk curled on his mouth.

"You don't want me on my knees, Frankie?" If Gerard was going for innocent he missed it by a mile. He got up slowly, deliberating getting on his knees before pushing to his feet. "All right then." He started undressing, letting the astronomically expensive cloth just crumple on the floor, like the spoiled prince he was.

Frank couldn't _not_ watch Gerard undress, of course, and the more clothes Gerard took off, the more Frank's own dressing gown felt heavy and itchy. When Gerard was finally naked, he said nothing to Frank, but draped himself on the bed, stretching out languidly on his back. Frank's mouth was now actually watering and his cock aching for attention of any kind, but he forced himself to stay still.

When Gerard was ready, he crooked a finger in Frank's direction. Frank immediately shed the robe and only just managed to not run across the room. He sat on the bed and took his time looking at Gerard. He didn't bother resisting the urge to touch himself now; as he looked Gerard over, he wrapped a hand around his cock and stroked himself slowly.

Gerard's eyes darkened as he watched this, and he licked his lips. "Come here," he ordered, grabbing onto Frank's arm and pulling him over. They kissed, hungry and sloppy, and Frank ended up thrusting into Gerard's hip, just trying to get friction. It felt so good to be pressed together again, and he couldn't stop running his hands over all the naked skin he could reach. 

Gerard maneuvered Frank until Frank was straddling him; then he curled his hands under Frank's thighs and urged him to scoot up. "Come on," Gerard whispered, eyes focused on Frank's dick. "Come _here._ "

So Frank ended up fucking Gerard's mouth while straddling his head. Gerard's mouth— his throat— was tight and hot and wet and one of the better things Frank had ever felt. He wondered, briefly, how this could be happening to him. Then Gerard's fingers went exploring and Frank lost what little capacity for rational thought he had left, just pushing into Gerard's mouth as hard as he dared. He shouted, loudly, when he came, and was pretty sure there were a few seconds he couldn't actually remember. He pulled out carefully, unsure of the soundness of his limbs.

Frank collapsed on the bed, next to Gerard but with his head down by Gerard's knees. He hurried to wrap his hand around Gerard's dick, which looked painfully hard. He only got a few rapid strokes in before Gerard shouted, arching up and spilling all over Frank's hand.

Frank settled his head on Gerard's thigh. He wiped his hand on the sheets and then licked at whatever come was left on his hand. He knew it made Gerard crazy. But all Gerard was capable of at the moment was a weak pat on whatever part of Frank he could reach.

As Frank's heart and breathing settled down, he stroked a hand up and down Gerard's leg. "I really liked those tights," he said.

"Fuck you," Gerard said.

"No! I did. Very attractive ankles." Frank, feeling a little like a fish flopping around on a dock, turned around and lay with his head near Gerard's. They stayed like that for a little while, until Frank felt his skin was cool enough. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them in.

Gerard curled toward Frank, stopping only when their noses were almost brushing. "Fucking... everything," Gerard mumbled.

"Couldn't agree more," Frank yawned.

 

They couldn't sleep in, however, since it turned out they had to go to church in the morning. Frank found this amusing; at Sudagio, he'd initially been scandalized by Gerard and Mikey's lackadaisical church attendance (though Gerard had been very convincing on the benefits of spending Sunday mornings in bed).

But the day after becoming a king through divine right under the mandate of Heaven was not a good day to skip church. Even worse, instead of attending chapel in the palace, they had to go through town to the cathedral. 

Gerard was not happy about this, but Frank and Simon together poured Gerard into his suit and gave him coffee for the ride. This time Gerard did take a closed carriage, so Frank just climbed in with him. Mikey got in too, glaring at everyone and stealing half of Gerard's coffee. Frank made them get rid of the scowls before he'd let them out of the carriage; it was a good move, because there was a very curious crowd watching. Frank tried to look as inconspicuous as possible.

He sat in a dark corner of the royal box and tried to look like he belonged there. Gerard and Mikey were in better moods by the time the service was over, or at least properly awake now. Frank was pretty sure they'd both taken little naps during the service.

"Now we get to go home and do nothing!" Gerard said happily, as their carriage pulled into the street. "Finally." 

"I'm going to take a nap," Mikey said.

"We're going to take a nap, too," Gerard said, leaning into Frank.

"Not that kind of nap," Mikey said. Frank giggled.

"Now that we've been cleansed of all our sins," Gerard said, pressing his face into Frank's neck, "we have to start all over again."

"I bet I can guess what sin you want to start with," Frank said.

Gerard pulled back enough that he could look at Frank out of the corner of his eye. "Am I so predictable?" he pouted.

"Yes," Frank laughed.

"Please don't start until I am no longer present," Mikey said. "For fuck's sake."

 

Gerard was busy again first thing on Monday, reappointing the Prime Minister and the Cabinet or whatever it was. Frank got to join Gerard and Mikey and Ray for lunch, though, so he didn't feel quite so lonely and useless.

It didn't matter, anyway: Frank woke up on Monday with a sore throat, and by the afternoon his head was pounding and his thoughts felt fuzzy. He lay down on the bed after lunch and didn't wake up until Gerard and Simon came in to dress for dinner.

Gerard beelined for him when he saw Frank struggling to sit up and rested his palm on Frank's forehead. "Oh, Frank," he sighed.

"Don't worry," Frank said. "I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."

Gerard petted him and Frank leaned forward and let his swimming head rest on Gerard's chest. "Don't think I'll make it to dinner," Frank mumbled.

"Of course not," Gerard cooed. "Go to bed at once."

Simon somehow talked Gerard into moving Frank into the other room. (He'd long since picked one out, but Frank had simply done nothing about moving anything into it.) Gerard resisted at first, but once Simon suggested it would be better for Frank, because they could have a maid and a doctor in all the time without worrying about Gerard's guards, Gerard reluctantly agreed. Frank paid attention long enough to add he might actually sleep better, and Gerard certainly would.

Frank ended up in the next room down the hall. He knew he should be grateful to Simon for arranging this at last, but he really just wanted to crawl into bed— any bed. Of course, Simon mentioning the guards made Gerard paranoid, and some poor guard ended up stationed outside Frank's room anyway.

Frank slept for two days straight, waking up only when a maid fed him soup or the royal physician came to poke at him. One night he half woke up and thought Gerard was petting his hair, but he wasn't sure it wasn't a dream.

On the third day, he was well enough to stay awake for several hours at a time, and Mikey came and read to him. That night Gerard ate dinner with him, just them, and crawled on the bed afterward to cuddle him and tell him a story about Sweet Pea and the Neapolitan ambassador, because Gerard had taken to keeping the puppy with him during the day while Frank was sick.

The next day Frank moved back into Gerard's room (and slept the rest of the day, because walking was _exhausting_ ). Simon seemed pleased; all the servants inclined to spread gossip now at least thought Frank had his own room, so they wouldn't have to worry about establishing that anymore. Gerard was definitely pleased to have Frank back, made a point to put the puppy up on the bed to keep Frank company, and kept making up excuses to stop by the suite.

Frank actually got better much more quickly than he was used to. It helped, he thought, to be able to lay in bed in a warm room with no drafts and not worry about trying to go to work or school or where the food would come from.

_Chapter 5_

Several weeks passed more pleasantly than Frank would have thought after his first week. But Gerard did not stay out until all hours, and Mikey sometimes had free time, even if Ray did not. Frank and Mikey took Sweet Pea out to play in the snow, and Mikey showed Frank his and Gerard's favorite spots in the gardens and the walk that was supposed to be haunted, once Frank's cough had subsided enough.

Simon brought in tailors, and Frank got fitted for new clothes as well. It was actually rather fun.

Frank had discovered a music room, too. He'd learned to play the piano a little— there had been a group effort to teach him at Sudagio. Gerard was not a very good teacher, at least not with Frank, being both distracting and distractible, and Mikey's explanations were confusing rather than helpful, but Ray was very patient. Frank would amuse himself with the piano in the long, dark afternoons, but he thought it wasn't quite in tune, and didn't know who to speak to about fixing that.

Frank was not so disquieted now but he still felt restless. It had been different at Sudagio. There, they all did nothing. Or not nothing, but they were all busy (or not) _together._ Now it felt as if Gerard— and Ray, for that matter— were busy all the time, and Frank did nothing all day. Even though Gerard did not work so late as he had the first week, he often still looked exhausted by the end of dinner, especially if it was a public dinner.

Finally, Frank did the only thing he could think of— he asked Mikey. "So I want to help him," Frank concluded at the end of his rather long-winded explanation, "but I don't know how. Or even if there is anything I could do."

Mikey propped his chin in his fist and looked thoughtful. "A lot of what he has to do is just stuff _he,_ the king, has to do. Public appearances or greeting people or the like. But if you did want to help—" and Mikey turned oddly furtive, looking one way and then the other— "you could read up on the history of Austria."

"The— _what?_ "

"Austria," Mikey nodded. "The king's responsible for foreign affairs under the constitution, but Gerard doesn't have a very strong background. He's only ever bothered with the parts of history he liked. Illyria, of course, and France and the Classics— he likes the art. But I don't think he ever really paid much attention to Austria. And as you may have noticed—" Mikey made a sort of swirly hand gesture— "we're surrounded by Austria."

"You really think that would help?"

Mikey shrugged. "It's not going to hurt."

 

There were books in the library, plenty of them. As Frank was going through them, he got the idea that many of them had never been opened. He shook his head over the wastefulness of rich people and got a passing footman to help him carry the large stack of books back to his rooms.

Before Frank got very far in his reading, Parliament came back into session and Gerard had to open it with a speech. He started staying up late working on it, but at least he did this in the suite, where Frank could keep an eye on him.

 

Frank and Mikey and Ray all went along to Parliament as moral support. Gerard was clutching the text of his speech in his hands, wrinkling it and sweating on it, and he seemed rigid with fear.

"Just do it like you did for us," Ray said encouragingly.

"Yeah," Frank said. "Like it's still just us in the room."

Gerard shot him a miserable look. Frank patted his knee. He didn't really think that would work, either.

"He'll be fine," Mikey said from behind a newspaper, sounding bored.

"What if I sat in the gallery?" Frank said. "So that you could see me?"

"And you just looked at Frank the whole time?" Ray immediately picked up the idea, or maybe they were both just grasping at the last straw.

Gerard pursed his lips. "I guess we could try it."

Gerard had one of the guards escort Frank to the gallery and find him a seat dead center from the podium and in the front row. They had to oust someone else out of the seat, and everyone around looked at Frank curiously. He did his best to ignore them and fidgeted, queasy with nerves, as he waited for Gerard to appear.

Finally the trumpets blared and everyone rose. Gerard entered, looking slightly more rumpled, and gestured everyone to be seated. He fiddled with his paper, and took a sip of water, and shot nervous looks into the gallery. Frank sat up straight, almost leaning over the railing, and finally Gerard spotted him. Their gazes locked and Gerard straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. The little bit of rustling that had started up stopped immediately, and Gerard began to speak. His voice was a little quiet at first, but he soon got over that, looking up from his notes at the right places to look at Frank.

Frank listened intently— not to the words, which he mostly knew by heart by this point anyway— but to Gerard's tone of voice, and he watched him raptly. He wasn't the only one. This wasn't much of a speech, no policy was being discussed, it was just to welcome Parliament and talk a very little about the history and their duty to the constitution and people of Illyria. Traditionally, it was a little bit of threat, because the king retained the right to dissolve Parliament and dismiss the government. But every time Frank managed to tear his eyes away from Gerard long enough to scan the room, everyone was focused on Gerard, even the journalists and Members of Parliament, who might be more cynical.

When Gerard finished the room exploded in applause. Everyone stood up and Gerard hesitated, clearly unsure what to do. Finally, he decided to give a little wave and disappear into the back.

The Prime Minister stood up to take his place, and Frank slipped out. He had some trouble getting to the back because the guards there were Parliament police and didn't know him, but eventually Dewees, the captain of Gerard's personal guard, came out and made the police let him through.

"There you are!" Gerard said, as if Frank had been lollygagging around instead of almost getting arrested. "Well, what did you think?"

"You were amazing," Frank said honestly.

Gerard blushed, pleased. "Really? It seemed to go okay, but I don't know..."

Frank and Ray both assured him it couldn't have gone better.

Mikey rattled his newspaper at them. "I told you so."

 

Dinner that night was rather large and long. Frank listened as everyone congratulated Gerard on his speech, and he watched as all the ladies clustered around him, giggling at everything Gerard said, some of them making bold with double entendres and others blushing with real or put-on innocence.

Frank wasn't jealous, exactly. Gerard's eyes kept seeking him out even in the midst of all that, and he was definitely going to bed with Frank tonight. Nothing to be jealous of.

But... Frank was managing to be lonely in a crowd of people, and that turned out to be more awkward and less satisfying than being alone by himself. He'd been here over a month and still only knew the people he'd known at Sudagio, plus a few servants. As grateful as Frank was that Simon was so friendly, he wasn't much help in situations like these, other than making sure Frank was well turned out.

Finally, Frank decided he'd be better off in the suite, and quietly slipped out.

 

"Where did you go?" Gerard wailed loudly when he came in hours later. "I spent ages waiting for you to come back. It was deadly. And now I'm exhausted."

And a little drunk, Frank guessed. He closed his book and sat up. "I didn't really know what to do," he explained, "so I thought I'd just come back here."

"You think _I_ know what to do in those things?" Gerard whined. He kicked off his shoes in the salon and then went into the bedroom.

Frank _tsk_ ed and picked up the shoes and carried them into the bedroom, to make it a little easier on Simon.

"Mikey's good at them," Gerard hadn't stopped talking when he'd switched rooms. "Mikey should just represent me all the time, I think."

"He is," Frank agreed. 

Gerard was dumping his jacket on the ground. "God, I wish I'd gone to bed days ago."

He collapsed on the bed, flat on his back, sprawled all over. Frank crawled up him and snuggled in, kissing along his jaw and neck. Gerard grunted but didn't otherwise respond. Frank slid a slow hand down Gerard's torso. 

"Do whatever you want," Gerard mumbled. "I'm just gonna lay here."

"That's no fun," Frank complained. 

"Tired," Gerard grunted.

Frank thought he could fix that. He sat up and started undoing the buttons of Gerard's waistcoat and shirt, kissing and licking at Gerard's smooth, pale skin as he uncovered it. He cleared the material off Gerard's chest but didn't bother trying to get Gerard to move enough to get it off him. Frank was always a little fascinated by Gerard's skin, which Gerard always took care to keep as pale as possible, like a lady. Gerard had very little hair on his body— Frank was by no means hairy himself, but even he had more than Gerard. 

Frank set to undoing Gerard's trousers. It was a bit of struggle to get them off but Frank was determined. Gerard's cock was still soft by the time Frank was finish, but he was undaunted.

He stripped off his own clothes and dragged his body against Gerard's as he moved up enough to kiss him. Gerard seemed more invested in this kiss than the earlier ones, but he was still laying mostly still like a lazy bastard.

Frank left off kissing him and settled in a comfortable position between Gerard's legs. He first rubbed his face along Gerard's hips. Which were definitely becoming bonier, Frank decided. He knew Gerard wouldn't eat right without Frank supervising him. He frowned and nipped at the bones. Gerard twitched.

Frank licked at the creases at the top of Gerard's thighs, and he could hear Gerard's breath hitch. He nuzzled around the base of Gerard's cock for a while. Gerard was still not fully hard; he really was tired. But Gerard had told Frank to do whatever he wanted.

Frank sucked the tip of Gerard's cock into his mouth and Gerard made a noise between a grunt and groan. Frank moved his mouth down Gerard's cock in stages. He loved the feeling of it hardening in his mouth, stretching his lips out further each time he sank down. 

By the time Frank had taken him all the way down, Gerard was fully hard and making little whining noises. Frank started on a slow rhythm at first, taking his time and soaking in the smell and taste and feel. One of Gerard's hands ended up in his hair, not pulling— not yet— just threading through the strands and resting there.

Frank let Gerard's cock slip out of his mouth and replaced it with his hand. Gerard whined a little restively, and Frank smirked. "I thought you were tired."

Gerard grumbled.

Frank kept his hand on Gerard's cock and mouthed at his balls instead, sucking at them gently.

"Fuck, Frankie, fuck. Your mouth." Gerard only used the diminutive of Frank's name when they were in bed. Frank thought he was developing quite an inappropriate reaction to hearing it. He smirked, licking Gerard's thigh, because Gerard seemed to have forgot all about being too tired to participate.

"Give me a pillow," he demanded.

"What?" 

Frank had to repeat his request several times before Gerard threw a pillow at him. Frank caught it before it hit him in the face. He prodded Gerard until he could get the pillow under his hips. It helped a bit. Frank spread Gerard's legs farther apart and went back in, licking under Gerard's balls and down until he reached his ass. He licked across the entrance and then around, using careful, short strokes, before finally working his tongue inside.

Gerard was making high-pitched, gaspy noises that might be trying to be Frank's name. Frank would have smiled, but his mouth was busy.

Gerard's thighs were trembling around Frank's head, and when he looked up, he saw that Gerard had wrapped a hand around his cock and was working it. The sight made Frank remember his own cock, leaking and so hard it hurt.

Frank bent back down to continue licking at Gerard's ass, but he wrapped a hand around his own cock. He squeezed at the base to ease the urgency a little. He focused on his tongue inside Gerard and the really incredible sounds Gerard was making. He was far beyond full sentences; he wasn't able to form full words.

Gerard came, crying out loudly. Frank could feel the contractions around his tongue. It made him grab his own dick again. He kept licking at Gerard, working him through it, but he let his hand slide fast over his own cock, which was slick from sweat and precome.

Frank's own orgasm was sudden and blinding. He must have shouted but wasn't really aware of anything until Gerard sat up and pulled him up so they were even.

"God, Frankie, Frankie." Gerard was pressing hard, smacking kisses all over his face. "You-- you're amazing. Frank." He pulled Frank close and kissed him, swiping his tongue through Frank's mouth. Frank felt completely limp and wobbly and was more than happy to let Gerard pull him around.

He did manage to kiss back and he slung an arm and a leg over Gerard.

"God, I love you," Gerard said happily, rubbing his face against Frank's.

"Love you too," Frank said, clinging like a monkey he'd seen once in Port Angelo.

Gerard continued babbling happily until he dropped off mid-ramble. Frank felt warm, inside and out, and satisfied with himself.

He couldn't quite fall asleep, though. He was wondering at himself. He felt reassured about his place with Gerard, but much less reassured about his own motives. He'd wanted to remind Gerard why Gerard kept him around, and he'd done that-- but should he have? 

Frank resisted the urge to toss and turn, preferring to stay smushed against Gerard, disgusting and sticky as they were. After all, he'd had his tongue in Gerard's ass tonight, and Gerard had kissed him quite a lot afterward, so regular rules of disgusting probably didn't apply.

Frank had thought about it, and he firmly believed that he would have loved Gerard no matter what, even if he'd been another stable boy. He couldn't quite imagine that-- Gerard had admitted he'd really only taken up riding as a hobby to have excuses to see Frank-- but if Gerard was a boy of his own class, then yes, Frank would still have loved him. It would be more difficult-- royalty could get away with a lot-- but they could have made something work, somehow.

But Frank couldn't deny the fairy tale aspect had a certain attraction, too. A handsome prince had come out of nowhere to sweep Frank off his feet, and taken him to live in a palace and rescued him from servitude and poverty. Now, Frank had money and food and all that that implied. If Gerard had to flee into exile and poverty, Frank would go with him, but he might not have been so quick to fall into Gerard's arms if Gerard hadn't also been His Serene Highness the Archduke. 

Which was only practical, Frank told himself, because an archduke could keep anyone out of prison, and no one was going to hesitate to lock up two stable boys.

And of course it had been flattering, too. Gerard was a member of the highest level of society, even in exile. He had access to the best people. And he had still chosen Frank, out of all the people in the world.

Frank wasn't supposed to be "ambitious." He wasn't here for money and power— but then why did he feel so restless and unsatisfied all the time? Why did he so badly want a place here that was something other than what he already had? Was his love still as disinterested as he'd always assumed it was?

Frank chased his thoughts around and around, arguing with morals in a way he hadn't since the beginning of his relationship with Gerard, when he'd worried about going to Hell.

Finally, even Frank fell asleep, but his dreams were uneasy and his sleep unrestful.

 

For two months things got along quietly; the normal carnival celebrations were greatly curtailed out of respect for the late king, and Gerard was happy to eschew most public appearances. Frank was pleased things were settling out in a way he could handle.

One morning he decided to go to the library to read. He was sick of being in the suite all the time and it was too miserable outside to contemplate a long walk. He'd done it a few times before, so he was very surprised when Gerard walked in with his whole retinue of advisors and guards. Frank was afraid he looked rather startled, because Mikey smirked when he waggled his fingers in hello. Gerard's face lit up when he noticed Frank, however, and after a guilty look at the secretaries spreading maps out on the big table, came over to speak to Frank.

"Another history of the Habsburgs?" Gerard said, surprised, reaching out for Frank's book before he thought better of it and let his hand fall back to his side.

Frank didn't know what to say— he hadn't yet figured out how to talk to Gerard about this, and certainly couldn't in public— so he just shrugged.

"Well," Gerard smiled, and it was warm and just for Frank, "You're going to know more than my advisors soon. You should stay." Then he frowned a little. "Although we'll probably disturb your reading."

"That's all right," Frank said. "I don't mind."

Gerard went over to rejoin his group, and Frank sat down again and opened his book, but he wasn't really reading. He listened as someone pointed out things on the map. Then they started talking about taxes and Frank zoned out and got distracted by his book again.

After a while Mikey came over and sat on Frank's legs, and they made faces at each other over the top of the book. Frank knew he really ought to be paying attention— wasn't this what he wanted, to help Gerard?— but taxes were so _boring._ Gerard was clearly not paying any attention himself. He looked like he was deep in thought, but Frank would bet good money that he was thinking about Byron, not taxes.

Finally the minister or whatever wrapped up his speech, and Frank smirked as he watching Gerard's startled blink. Definitely not paying attention. Most of the people left the room then, and Frank sat up a little, hopeful that business was done.

"All right," Gerard sighed. "You wanted to talk to me about the border situation?"

"Yes, sire," Szerlim said. "However, it is a situation that requires the strictest secrecy."

This sounded like it might actually be interesting. Frank looked around. The only people left in the room were Gerard, Mikey, himself, Ray, Szerlim, and two army officers. Even the honor guard was outside. Exciting.

"Very well," Gerard said, having obviously taken a similar inventory of the room. "Proceed."

Szerlim's jaw was twitching, and Frank enjoyed it for a moment. "With all due respect, sire," his voice was low and sounded tense and almost terse, "commoners should not be involved in this."

It still took Frank a second to figure it out, and then he was mortified. Ray might be the youngest son, but his father was still a nobleman, however minor and impoverished. "Please excuse me," he whispered. He put the ribbon in the book to mark his place and put it down. He suddenly didn't want to take it with him. He got to his feet, not wanting to look at anyone.

"Stay there, Frank," Gerard said sharply. Frank froze, and couldn't resist glancing up at Gerard. He looked furious, more furious than Frank had ever seen him, and there was actually a little slide of fear in Frank's stomach.

Gerard's jaw was clenched and his eyes almost snapped, his shoulders rigid. "Your objection," he said to Szerlim, "is that Mr. Iero is, as you say, a 'commoner'?"

Szerlim was wary but nodded.

"Fine," Gerard snapped. "Frank, on your knees."

"What?" Frank said, because Gerard said that to him sometimes but not when there were _other people around._

"Kneel," Gerard barked out, and Frank obeyed automatically. Mikey came and stood by Frank's shoulder, but his eyes were on his brother, and he was almost twitchy enough to be Gerard. 

Gerard was already storming across the room. He jerked one of the library doors open, but spoke quite pleasantly, almost sweetly to the guard outside. "May I borrow this?" He didn't wait for an answer before moving, though, and Frank heard the soft singing scrape of a blade being drawn.

Gerard came back in with the guard's rapier, slamming the door behind him. Frank was kneeling and Gerard had a sword. He tried not to read too much into this.

Gerard stopped abruptly in front of Frank and spun to face him. He lifted the sword. "Focus," Frank whispered, because Gerard was _mad_ and his hand might be shaking.

Frank couldn't help wincing as Gerard brought the sword down. It whistled by his ear but the touch on Frank's shoulder was light and so quick Frank barely felt it. The rapier whistled again as Gerard lifted it. Frank didn't move, didn't even breathe, as Gerard brought the sword down on the other side and lifted it, just as quickly.

"Arise Sir Frank Iero of Krillij," Gerard said. He rested the point of the sword on the floor.

Both of Frank's ears were still there, it seemed, so Frank got to his feet, a little unsteadily. Mikey helped him stand with a hand on his arm.

"There," Gerard smirked, pleased with himself, and turned to look at Szerlim. "I take it your objections have now been satisfied?"

The count looked like he'd been forced to eat something extremely unpleasant. It was rather satisfying. Gerard obviously thought so, too.

The count bowed to Gerard, jerkily. "As you say, Your Majesty."

Gerard smiled, bratty, and marched back across the room. He opened the door and handed the sword back to the guard with a bright smile and a thank you.

"Now," he purred as he resumed his place at the head of the table. "May we continue?"

Frank's head was swimming. Sir Frank Iero. That's what Gerard had said. Frank had been knighted. He was a _knight._ His heart felt like it would hammer out of his chest. A knight. A knight. A _knight._

He had to tell his mother.

But Gerard had knighted him for a reason. Admittedly, that reason was probably to score points over Count Szerlim, but it had certainly come out well for Frank, and he should try and pay attention, now that he was allowed.

The gist of it, from what Frank could tell, was that Austrian border guards sometimes turned away travelers with Illyrian passports for vague and unsatisfactory reasons, and that the Austrian Imperial Army might (or might not) have increased garrison numbers along the Illyrian border. Everyone seemed to agree there were too many conflicting reports to decide anything, but they still needed to talk about it for an hour.

Once it was all over, Frank did excuse himself— taking the book this time— and lost the battle to not run back to the suite. He rang the bell immediately, because he had to tell someone, and everyone else had been there.

"Yes, sir?" Simon appeared.

Frank stared at him, wide-eyed, wondering where to begin.

"Is something wrong?" Simon asked, frowning a little.

"Gerard knighted me!" It was rather closer to a shout than it should have been, but Frank was really rather excited. He told Simon the whole story, with lots of jumping around and hand-waving, and Simon was appropriately impressed.

"Congratulations, sir! Ooh! You get to wear a sword now," Simon nodded thoughtfully. "That could really help your look."

Frank burst into laughter. "Go find me a sword, then," he said. Simon actually did so, and Frank sat down to write his mother. He got the letter sent off as soon as he could— it should be able to catch the afternoon train to Port Angelo. She might know by tonight.

Frank had practiced his new signature— _Sir Frank Iero of Krillij_ — a few times before finally adding it to the letter. It wouldn't matter, now, how Frank had come to get his title. He had one.

 

"I'm sorry, Frank," Gerard said, when he found them in their room later. Frank's heart sank. Did Gerard think the knighting was a mistake? Was Gerard going to take it back? Could he even do that? Frank wasn't looking forward to writing that letter to his mother.

"Ray and Mikey told me off later, and they're both right." Gerard sounded earnest, and Frank's blood felt like it was freezing. _Ray and Mikey_ didn't think he should be a knight? Frank's heart felt like it would shatter. "I should have knighted you much sooner. I should have done it as soon as I could, Frank, I'm sorry."

Frank put a hand on his chest. Gerard deserved to get smacked for scaring him like that. Of course that's why Ray and Mikey were upset.

Gerard was still speaking, naturally. "I just forget how much that sort of thing matters to some people. But," and he smiled warmly at Frank, "I hope to fix this a bit now. I've decided to give you Sudagio, Frank, all the lands. That will make you a Lord."

"But— Sudagio is yours."

"Which is why I can give it to you!" Gerard said brightly. 

"But—"

"Frank." There was a little warning in that, so Frank swallowed down his protests.

"I… suppose I'd better write another letter to my mother." Frank felt shocked, like he couldn't quite grasp what this meant. Gerard laughed. "Thank you," Frank said quickly, and dropped a little bow. "Thank you."

"Like I said," Gerard dropped his voice and cupped a hand around Frank's cheek. "It's very belated."

"Are you free now?" Frank asked. "Because I would like to thank the hell out of you."

"I think I could arrange that." Gerard's grin was big and hot and everything Frank wanted.

_Chapter 6_

Sudagio gave Frank an actual income of his own. He didn't know how much it was, exactly, but he remembered that Gerard and Mikey had lived mostly off the estate's income while they were in exile. And he was now Sir Frank Iero, Lord Sudagio. Frank didn't recognize his own name.

"My mother wants to know why I was knighted," Frank reported, after receiving an effusive and possibly tear-stained letter. "What should I tell her?"

"Personal Services to the King," Gerard drawled.

Frank giggled. "I'm not putting that, it's dirty!"

"It's not dirty."

"The way _you_ mean it, it is!"

Gerard just grinned and went back to whatever report he was reading. In the end, "Personal Services to the King" _was_ what he ended up writing, but added "so I can help him with state business." He just hoped she didn't read between the lines.

 

The only difficulty with having his own estate was that Frank needed to go and officially take possession of it. So Frank found himself packing for a week, with Gerard alternating pouting and fretting at him.

"Are you sure you don't want a private train?" Gerard asked for the thousandth time.

"I'll be fine, Gerard." Frank said, again. "I'll be in a first class compartment and I know what the Port Angelo station looks like so I won't get off too soon."

"And the carriage..."

"Will meet me at the station. And they know what I look like."

"If the carriage _isn't_ there—"

"Then I'll get a taxi," Frank said patiently.

"You're sure you have enough money?"

"I have more than I know what to do with," Frank said, which was true. Gerard kept forcing more and more corone on him every time they had this conversation.

Gerard made an unhappy face. "I wish I was going with you."

"I wish you were, too," Frank said. He hadn't been away from Gerard even overnight since they'd started sleeping together (being sick didn't count). It made him uneasy, and his inability— or refusal— to understand why only added to the anxiety. 

And even though Gerard had now fussed about it to the point of absurdity, Frank really never had traveled on his own. Now that it was time for him to actually go, he felt a little sick to his stomach.

"Are you all right?" Gerard asked, rubbing a hand up and down Frank's back. "You don't have to go today if—"

"No, I'm fine," Frank shook himself and straightened his shoulders. "I should probably think about getting on the train." Gerard, in defiance of all common sense and pleading, had accompanied Frank to the train station. They were in a closed, unmarked carriage of course, but it was still ridiculous.

Frank wrapped his arms around Gerard's neck. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Gerard said. Frank kissed him. It ended up going on for a bit longer than he intended. Gerard was clingy, and Frank was feeling a certain reluctance to part himself.

"Take good care of the puppy," Frank said. He had, grudgingly, decided it would be easier to travel without Sweet Pea.

"Of course," Gerard said, and pulled Frank in for another kiss, and then another.

They only parted when someone knocked on the door. "Very sorry, sir," the footman called, "but it's 3:14." Frank's train left at 3:15.

Frank hurried to gather his things again, while Gerard tried to give him advice. "Be sure you get in the first class compartment—"

"The doors open on the outside, I know—"

"You have your ticket?" Gerard asked anxiously. "I should have written you a letter or a pass of some kind..."

"No, I'm fine." Frank stopped with his hand on the door long enough to say: "I love you. See you in a week!"

Gerard echoed it, but Frank had to open the door, get out, and run for it. The footman ran with him, pushing other people out of the way and making sure Frank got on the right train. 

"This car, sir," he shouted, peering through the compartment doors. "This one looks empty." The footman seemed to be enjoying himself. Frank probably should have taken one as a valet or something; it probably looked odder that he was totally alone.

He opened the door— someone from the railroad was shouting at them, but the footman ignored him and helped Frank in, passing the valise after him. "All right, sir? Have a good trip, Milord!"

Frank waved and shouted his thanks— there was no time to tip, but surely Gerard would remember to do that. Well, perhaps Frank could do it when he returned.

Frank collapsed on a seat and the whistle blew. The train set off with a lurch, and Frank couldn't help being rather excited for his second train trip ever. He got his bags settled and didn't seem to be missing anything.

He mostly looked out the window until the first stop, when a conductor came to his window to check his ticket and ask if he wanted anything. Gerard did not feel train food was really acceptable quality so Frank had a packed basket again, this one nearly as ridiculous as the one Mme Caillet had packed for their trip to the palace.

Eventually Frank got bored and pulled out his book. He had read all the books about Austria in the palace library that he could. Frank could speak both the local Slovene dialect and Italian very well— he mostly spoke Italian with Gerard and Mikey and Ray. But the aristocracy all spoke French and German to each other, and Gerard spoke both, and he could read Latin and Greek too. Frank could read French okay when he tried, but it was slow going and he didn't get everything, and he couldn't read German at all. And of course, most of the books about Austria were in German.

So now Frank was trying to read Hegel in Italian. It was almost as slow as reading in French. At least in history things _happened._ Philosophy just seemed to be a lot of wandering around. Between the rocking of the train, the dense book, and the warmth of the closed compartment, Frank dozed off.

He startled when he woke up. They were in a large-ish station. Ray, helpfully, had told Frank that he would know when to get off by what time it was. They still had an hour to go, so this must be another stop.

A man came in and sat down on the bench across from Frank with a nod. Frank nodded back. The man was not aristocracy, but some grand bourgeois, Frank decided. A wealthy merchant, probably, on his way to the port to supervise the unloading of cargo. Frank made up an interesting story for him while pretending to read.

Finally, though, the man caught Frank stealing a look. He took this as an invitation to introduce himself. "Good afternoon," the man said in Italian. When Frank responded, the man introduced himself as "Signore Ristovic." He pronounced it an Italian way. The courtiers would have laughed as they considered this unforgivably bourgeois— apparently it was quite common among the bourgeoisie, because Italians were considered more cultured. Frank used to consider himself quite lucky to have a real Italian last name. But now he knew that people who had nothing to prove— the nobility— were proud of their Slavic names, because it proved they were old families, and nationalism was in fashion just now.

The nobility, Frank reflected, wouldn't speak to this man, who must have worked hard to be able to afford the first class ticket. Frank smiled at him and asked him what took him to Port Angelo.

Signore Ristovic was happy to talk about himself, his business, his family, and the problems these things gave him. Frank was getting bored by the time the train finally arrived, and for some reason Ristovic continued to talk at Frank as they gathered their things and climbed down from the compartment. 

Frank tried to walk faster but Ristovic kept pace, complaining about untrustworthy dock workers. "And where are you headed to, sir?" he asked as they stepped out to the front of the station.

"I see my ride now," Frank said, smiling. Mr. Kresnej himself was standing by the Sudagio carriage, hat in hand. Lots of people were looking at him curiously— the royal arms were still on the carriage door— but Frank ignored everyone and walked over. 

"Mr. Kresnej."

"Milord." There was mischief in the old man's eyes, and Frank grinned at him. 

Frank threw his bags in the carriage and climbed in. He caught a glimpse of Ristovic, gaping after him. Frank lowered the windows and put his feet up on the seat. 

It was much warmer on the coast than in the capital, which was at a high elevation. Frank enjoyed the warm air and sun. As they reached Krillij, Frank looked around with curiosity, but nothing appeared to have changed. He stood up and leaned out the window to shout directions to Mr. Kresnej.

They pulled up in front of the building in which his mother rented rooms and Frank climbed out and went in himself. His mother hadn't been expecting him today and cried when she saw him. Frank hugged her and told her to tell her maid to pack everything up.

He put his mother in the carriage and they rode up to Sudagio. He'd send the carriage back for her things. At Sudagio, all the staff had lined up outside. Frank felt terribly awkward, climbing out the carriage with only his mother and being greeted like a lord. 

He didn't know how he was supposed to be the master to people he considered friends, but Gerard never seemed to find it difficult. Frank edged around the problem by introducing his mother to everyone.

The kitchen maids just curtsied silently, and Frank realized he wasn't the only one confounded by the situation. Mme Caillet didn't seem to mind, and chattered happily about what she'd serve Frank, since she could see he needed feeding up. Frank assured her the cooks at the palace were far inferior.

Frank's relationship with the butler was less easy; he thought Mr. Venterri had always disapproved of him. Frank reminded himself that the man could give notice if he wanted.

"I don't expect I'll be here much," Frank said. "But my mother will live here full time."

"Frank," his mother hissed at him once they were left alone in the drawing room. "I don't know what to do with a place like this. Or a staff this big!"

"You'll get used to it," he said, as encouragingly as he could.

Chloe brought them tea, and although she exchanged several significant looks with Frank, she didn't speak. Frank felt frustrated and awkward— this wasn't what he expected, or wanted.

He and his mother only spoke of the trip and village life, but Frank could see her working up to something. He wasn't looking forward to the after dinner conversation.

His mother went to settle in and Frank went to what he still thought of as his and Gerard's room. It was strange being back at Sudagio without Gerard and Mikey and Ray. Even though the servants had been there the whole time, the house still felt empty.

Gerard had given Frank a list of things to send back, mostly books, and Frank started pulling them out and stacking them. He dressed himself for dinner, though one of the footmen stuck his head in to ask if Frank needed any help. 

Dinner felt just as strange and lonely with only Frank and his mother at the table. As gloomy as Frank felt about what would come next, it seemed ridiculous to stay at the table by himself, so he followed his mother into the drawing room immediately.

She took out her work and arranged it all, then left it on her lap. "Well, Frank," she said. "You've done quite well for yourself, haven't you? A knighthood!" She smiled warmly at him, and Frank smiled back automatically.

She lowered her eyes to her work and picked it up, but lowered it again without doing anything to it. "I don't understand, though," she said quietly, "how you went from a stableboy to a lord. Or why." She looked back up him, pinning him in place with a look like Frank had been skiving from school. 

Frank took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his nice trousers. "Gerard— His Majesty— is very fond of me." It was weak. Frank waited.

"Fond of you? I'll say. You must be a really exceptional stable boy."

"Mama, I haven't been a stable boy for almost two years."

"I know. So what are you?"

Frank wished he had a drink. Or something to do with his hands. Instead, he lifted his chin and met his mother's eyes. "I'm his lover." It wasn't quite what he'd meant to say, but it was the truth, and once it was out it was even sort of a relief.

His mother nodded slowly and looked down at her lap. "Yes," she said quietly. "I thought it was something like that." She pulled her work toward her and picked up her needle.

Frank listened to the crackling of the fire and wondered what she was thinking. He watched her sewing. It was decorative work, like a lady would do, not the practical seam-stitching and button-sewing she'd done most of the evenings of his life.

After Frank's father's ship went down, they'd received a stipend. It was enough to keep them frugally, but Frank's mother had insisted on sending him to the better school. To pay for that, she'd taken in laundry from anyone she could, working almost non-stop. She'd continued to take in laundry while Frank worked in the stables; after that, she'd gradually realized she could stop. Frank's memory of her included red, chapped hands. Her hands were not so rough now, finally healing.

"Are you happy?" she asked, after a few long moments. "Aside from the title and the money?"

"Yes," Frank said. 

"And is he... kind to you?"

"Yes," Frank said, unable to resist smiling. "He's kind to everyone, really, but... yes. He... takes care of me. And I try to do the same."

"Don't you... do you not want to get married?" she asked. "Do you not like women or is it..." but she didn't seem to know what else to say.

Neither did Frank, actually. He shrugged. "I love him. That's all I know, really. It's not that he's king, it's that he's... Gerard." For a minute he thought she'd speak again, but then she seemed to decide to hold her tongue. This was a new experience for Frank. Perhaps that meant she saw him as adult, and she no longer needed to second-guess all his decisions. This was at once surprising, gratifying, and somewhat alarming. 

 

After she went to bed, Frank wandered around his and Gerard's old rooms, now technically Frank's alone. He missed Gerard, and Frank was starting to be mired in nostalgia. He decided he might as well do it properly and rang the bell.

Chloe appeared herself, reading his mind, and they at last settled down for a chat. Frank had been writing to her, but there were things he didn't dare put in letters. They stayed up much too late, and only then did Frank guiltily remember his promise to write Gerard after arriving.

He sat down, bleary-eyed, and scratched out a few paragraphs. He'd have to do better in the morning, or Gerard might send guards to hunt him down. He mentioned long talks with his mother and Chloe, and hoped Gerard would understand.

 

He put off reviewing the accounts as long as he could, because good lord, how he hated that, and the next day took a ride instead. He'd always felt a bit awkward going back to the stables before, but now he technically owned them and everything in them, so he was going to get over that.

He took his favorite horse and went on a long ride. It was sunny with a fair breeze off the sea, and Frank wanted to soak in as much sun as he could. He ended up by the little stream that ran through the uncultivated part of the estate, and went to visit the little clearing where Gerard used to take him to make love to him.

Frank dismounted and let the horse graze. Today, the stream was just starting to rise and get wild as the snow began to melt. A branch had fallen in the middle of the clearing and Frank tossed it, with a little difficulty, to the other side of the stream.

This place made him laugh at himself, or what he used to be. The first time Gerard had brought a picnic he'd had to coax Frank to even sit down, let alone eat, Frank had been so disbelieving that any of the food could have been intended for him. 

They'd had their first kiss here, too. Frank had found Gerard extremely confusing, both in terms of his actions and how he made Frank feel. Thanks to some lucky eavesdropping around the stables, Frank had finally gotten a hint of what Gerard might be about with all those long afternoons together.

It had just left Frank more confused. He knew he should probably put a stop to it, but he didn't know how— or at least, that's what he told himself to cover up the fact that he didn't really want to. So Frank had spent all day feeling nervous and kind of sick, and once he was actually out with Gerard, Frank knew he was acting odd and twitchy. He watched Gerard closely, for any sign that might give him away, and concentrated on not throwing up.

Gerard was sketching, which Gerard often did on these jaunts, but this time Frank found the silence both awkward and difficult to break. He wasn't sure if Gerard noticed the tension or not (in retrospect, Frank thought he must have, and he was keeping quiet because of it). 

Frank finally opened his mouth and started babbling— about the first thing he saw, which was the river, at that time well-behaved and gently burbling. He'd described it as "brown and green with flecks of gold, like your eyes."

Gerard had looked up at that, a very odd look on his face, and Frank had blushed. And then Gerard had kissed him. Fast and short as the kiss was, somewhere between Frank's eye's closing as Gerard leaned toward him, and Frank's eyes fluttering open again as Gerard leaned away, the whole world changed.

After that they had a sort of understanding, and Gerard began to press his suit in earnest, making love to him on their little excursions— although it was necessarily less like courting and more like a drawn-out seduction. Gerard would whisper nonsense to him for hours as they lay in the grass, surrounded by decimated picnics or ignored books, and Gerard would brush his hand against Frank's until Frank wrapped his fingers around Gerard's. There were kisses, carefully stolen at first, and then escalating until Frank had been driven to distraction, kisses like kissing was the only thing keeping them alive. Frank was far gone enough to think that might even be true. 

It was not unlike a real engagement. No talking to parents, of course, and obviously no public appearances, but Frank had started having lunch with Mikey and Ray as well as Gerard, and Gerard gave him ridiculously inappropriate presents, and stood much too close, and seemed to prefer whispering in Frank's ear to any other sort of verbal communication.

And towards the end, after the first few times when Gerard had touched him so carefully, it had been Frank pressing Gerard up against trees, Frank biting his neck, Frank making him beg.

Gerard had told Frank, many times, that he could say no without fearing for his job; Frank had even come to believe that. Gerard, his hands restless on Frank's arms, chest, back, hips, had promised to love him, and protect him, and asked Frank to live with him. By that point everything Gerard did drove Frank crazy, and he hadn't needed to be talked into bed.

That first time Frank had woken up in Gerard's bed, he'd been slightly confused, then sat up with a jolt. It was already light out; he was late for work.

Gerard had grumbled at him sleepily. "I have to go," Frank had insisted, and started to climb out of bed, tangled in sheets and blankets and curtains. "I'm late."

Gerard had sat up and stared at him. "Late for what?"

Frank had started to explain, and then Gerard had laughed— utterly confounding Frank— and tried to pull Frank back down into bed. "You don't work at the stables anymore," he'd finally explained.

"I don't?"

"Frank." Gerard's hand stroked his cheek. "You can't be my servant and my lover." Apparently there was a _line_ Frank hadn't known about. He hadn't known that when Gerard told him the night before to "be sure," that this was what he'd meant. Frank had been sure— Gerard had been making love to him all summer, exchanging more than kisses, and Frank was sure he wanted naked skin and sex and time and someplace warm to sleep that night. And now he wouldn't go back to the stables, and everyone would know why.

Frank had already made his choice— and really, he wouldn't change it if he could— so he'd crawled back under the soft, expensive covers and let Gerard cuddle up to him.

"I need some way to get money for my mother," he said softly. "Is there something I can do—"

Gerard waved this away, yawning. "I'll give you whatever you need, of course. What did you make in the stables?"

"Ten corone," he said. It was more like eight, with money taken out for expenses, but he didn't think Gerard would mind him rounding up.

"I probably have that on my dressing table," Gerard said through another yawn. "Just take what you want. Is that really all you need for a week?"

Frank made eight corone a _month,_ but he shut his mouth tight even though it was trying to yawn so he wouldn't correct Gerard. Gerard fell back to sleep at once, but Frank lay on his back and stared at the bed canopy. Ten corone a week for nothing. 40 corone a month for being Gerard's lover, living in a palace? Frank wasn't stupid. He shut his mouth, took his mother the money, and didn't go back to the stables.

 

Gerard had tried to make Frank promise to write two or three times a day; Frank had talked him down to "at least" once before he left. It turned out to be an easy promise to keep, however, as Frank had more hours to fill than he truly knew what to do with. The estate was in good repair and everyone knew what to do far better than he did. 

He took his mother shopping in Port Angelo, but it wasn't as fun as he'd hoped. There was still a certain tension between them that made their time alone together awkward, and his mother refused to buy anything she felt she "didn't really need," which rendered the shopping expedition futile.

They were taking a break in a tea shop, where his mother's attention was mostly focused outside. Frank was lost in his own thoughts (which were mostly about Gerard) when his mother sighed wistfully and said, softly, "Don't you want children?"

There was a young mother with a pram passing in front of the window, with a golden haired child bouncing along after her.

Frank was embarrassed to be talking about this, especially in public. "I don't know," he hedged. Before meeting Gerard, he had always assumed he would have children, and looked forward to it as something that would be nice many years in the future. But obviously he couldn't marry anyone now, so...

His mother looked embarrassed too, and perhaps she hadn't meant to talk out loud. But she cast another longing look at the baby, and Frank's stomach gave an unpleasant twist.

 

She didn't speak of babies or marriage again, not even on Frank's last evening. She was busy asking him questions about how to address the servants and what she was supposed to do. Frank reassured her the servants would forgive a few etiquette breaches, and told her she could do whatever she liked. "Run a charity for orphans, I don't know."

He asked Chloe if she wanted to come back to the palace with him— he'd get her any place she wanted. She demurred, hemmed and hawed, and finally admitted she'd begun seeing a man in the village, a grocer. Frank was disappointed but he, of all people, understood, so he just squeezed her hand, teased her about her love affair, and before he left forced her to accept a dowry.

 

On the whole it was easy to leave Krillij and return to the palace. Frank felt quite experienced when he got on the train this time, and he ended up with the compartment to himself the entire trip. It was perhaps a little lonelier than he liked— maybe he really should get himself a valet for company. Or maybe that was just because he wanted to avoid a lot of introspection.

Simon, of all people, met him at the station. They rode together in the carriage and Simon caught him up on what he'd missed, which wasn't much. "There's been quite a lot of pining," Simon teased.

"The dog or the king?" Frank asked. They both laughed, startling the guard who'd come to peer in the window to make sure they were the sort of people he should let into the palace grounds.

 

He met Gerard coming out of his office; Gerard hurried them into the first dark doorway he could find and kissed Frank breathless. "Oh thank goodness you're back," he said, mouthing along Frank's jaw. _"Frank."_

Frank tried to respond but his eyes were trying to roll back and he couldn't quite articulate words. They were interrupted by Ray after a few minutes, come to pull Gerard into another meeting.

"Come on," Ray coaxed, when Gerard was showing no sign of letting go of Frank, "Frank probably needs to rest after his trip." He looked at Frank pleadingly, and Frank consented to do him a favor and yawn in Gerard's face.

"I am kind of tired," he said. Gerard pouted but uncurled his fingers from Frank's coat.

The four of them had dinner, Frank and Gerard and Ray and Mikey, like old times. Gerard was unusually quiet, and his questions almost hesitant. Much later, in bed, Gerard was drawing long arabesques over Frank's skin with his finger, following some pattern visible only to him.

"So was it good to be home?" Gerard asked, his gaze fixated on his fingertips on Frank's chest.

Frank felt languid and sleepy and fucked out, a feeling he was enjoying very much. "It is good to be home," he said. He'd been a bit surprised by that earlier, how much the palace had felt like home upon his return.

Gerard jerked his head up and looked at Frank, first wide-eyed with surprise, then his face was transformed by a wide, bright smile. "I'm glad to hear you say that," he said. "I didn't— I wondered. You know. If you were happy here."

Now Frank was surprised. It seemed they'd both been avoiding awkward conversation, and Frank realized how long it had been since they'd really talked about something important. Well, personally important. "I'm happy where you are," Frank said. "Although—" this was definitely the time to mention it, and Frank wrapped his hand around Gerard's for support— "I don't really know what to do here," he confessed at last. "I'd like to do _something_ to help— to help you, I mean— but I don't know what."

"Really?" Gerard was looking at Frank intensely. Frank couldn't interpret the look, but it wasn't anything negative. "Of course," Gerard continued, after a long pause. "Of course. Anything you like." His voice turned low and warm, and he squeezed Frank's hand. "You only have to ask." He leaned his cheek on Frank's hip. "I'll think on it and find you something."

Frank looked at Gerard, with his long lashes and snub nose and face all pushed up on one side, and his chest felt so full it ached. He moved a lock of damp hair off Gerard's forehead with great care. "I'd like that."

_Chapter 7_

"I've thought of something," Gerard said at breakfast. "For you to do, if you'd like. Also, Captain Dewees wants to see you."

"Wait, what?" Frank had been thinking early morning breakfast thoughts, and Gerard's non-sequiturs were a bit much to keep up with. He understood that this was Gerard actually waking up after his first cup of coffee, but Frank was nowhere near the same starting gate, and it took a few minutes for his own brain to catch up. "Why does Captain Dewees want to see me? What did I do?"

"Oh, I don't know," Gerard said dismissively. "I can't remember that. He just wanted to see you when you got back. But about the thing I've thought of for you to do. If you want?"

Frank did his best to push down his natural worry about trouble with authorities. He couldn't be in trouble. Gerard wouldn't allow it. "What would you like me to do, then?"

"Well, only if you want... it's not very exciting, or anything, but it needs to be done and there's not really anyone else—"

"Gerard," Frank said patiently. "Just tell me what it is."

"Oh. Of course. I think we need a new chamberlain. My father's chamberlain is..." Gerard wrinkled his nose. "Well. I think we'd all be happier if he retired."

"All right." Frank wasn't at all sure what a chamberlain did, other than a vague notion that he ran the palace household, or where Gerard was going with this. Was Gerard going to ask him to be chamberlain? Could Frank do that? It seemed like a lot to manage, but Frank was actually quite organized when he wanted to be, and—

"So I thought maybe you could interview candidates for me?" Gerard asked, unaware of Frank's frantic internal monologue. "I was going to have Mikey do it but you know how he is, it would never get done. You can get the list from Ray."

Frank took a deep swallow of tea to recover. "What should I be looking for?"

"Oh, I trust you," Gerard said, and stole the last brioche out from under Frank's hand.

 

"Here's the list," Ray said, digging out an alarmingly densely written-on paper from an enormous stack in his arms. 

"Okay," Frank said, scanning the cramped writing.

"Some of them are from the present chamberlain, some of them are other suggestions. I'm sure you'll make the best of it." Ray smiled encouragingly.

"Right," Frank said. "I just have one question."

"Go ahead."

"What does a chamberlain do?"

 

After hearing Ray's list of a chamberlain's duties, Frank was glad Gerard hadn't suggested he take it. He kind of liked having _some_ free time. And when Ray told him the chamberlain was responsible for palace entertainment, Frank better understood why Gerard wanted Frank's help on this.

A butler helped Frank find an empty office, and Frank sat in it with Sweet Pea, reading over the list. All the names were meaningless to him, so he'd probably just have to start at the beginning.

A knock on the door surprised him and set Sweet Pea barking; he hushed her and called "Come in?"

Captain Dewees poked his head around the door. "Lord Sudagio. You've become a difficult man to track down. May I come in?"

"Oh, sure." Frank had started to stand up, but Dewees's use of his title reminded him of how rank worked, and he quickly sat back down. "Sorry," Frank said. "Gee— His Majesty— said you wanted to see me but I got distracted." He waved the list, then realized it wasn't a real explanation. "Please sit down. What did you want to see me about, Captain?"

Frank had been in enough scrapes as a boy that officers of the law made him nervous. Technically, the Palace Guard were military, not police, but they were maybe a sort of military police, and that was worse. Frank reminded himself that Dewees worked for Gerard, and Gerard wouldn't let anything happen to him.

Dewees sprawled in the chair on the other side of the desk and smiled amiably at Frank, who found it all rather confusing. "Here's the thing, Milord—" Frank jumped a little at the title, and he thought he saw Dewees quickly suppress a smirk. "My men are quite good at being with His Majesty most of the day. Almost everywhere. Really very good at it, actually. But _most_ and _almost_ are not _all the time_ and _everywhere_. But you, sir, you pretty much are."

"Are what?" Frank wasn't sure he'd followed that.

"You are everywhere. Or at least places we don't go."

There was a pause as they both assessed how awkward this was. Obviously Dewees _knew_ — all the guards knew, probably because they had to know that Frank was allowed in the king's apartments any time, day or night, and not to challenge or impede him. That was a privilege Frank only shared with Simon. And a few of them had seen Frank and Gerard together, behaving in what must have been a very unsubtle manner.

"Right," Frank said, feeling his way with caution. He folded his hands on the desk. "Like at night, you mean."

"For example," Dewees said. "So what I wanted to know, Milord, is whether you know how to use that sword you carry now, or whether you've ever used a firearm?"

"I..." Frank looked at his sword, which Simon had obtained for him. Sometimes, when he was alone, he'd play with it, swinging it through the air at imaginary foes, but he didn't have any idea what to do in a real duel. "No," he said. "I don't know any fencing."

"And firearms? His Majesty doesn't seem fond of sports, but..."

Frank shook his head. "Never fired a gun, either."

"Well, if you're available, Milord, I'd like to give you fencing and shooting lessons."

"Really?"

"You shouldn't have a weapon you don't know how to use. That's how accidents happen." Dewees grinned, and seemed rather inappropriately cheerful at the thought of painful, permanent accidents.

"Right. Well, I have a dagger."

"A dagger?"

"Under my pillow," Frank explained. "I put it there when... I mean, I keep one there. Just in case."

Dewees beamed. "I knew this was a good idea!"

 

During tea, Frank cornered Mikey on a sofa and made him go through the list of possible chamberlains. Mikey crossed out a fair number of them for various faults, ranging from "stodgy" to "fussy" to "halitosis."

"Here," Mikey gave the list back. "I don't know everyone on here because we were gone so long, but I got rid of the worst ones."

Frank thanked him and tried to ruffle his hair, which Mikey dodged grumpily. Frank saw Gerard watching them out of the corner of his eye, beaming.

 

And just like that, Frank's days were busy. In the morning he had fencing lessons with the Guards' Fencing Master, and then target practice— with a pistol, not a rifle, because the point was to teach Frank to defend himself and Gerard from attack, not how to hunt (and Frank had no interest in hunting). Frank practiced on a variety of weapons, but mostly on the small pistol Dewees had given him that Frank kept in his bedside drawer.

After lunch he conducted interviews. None of them blinked at being interviewed by Frank, who after all was a lord now. But none of them seemed to be exactly what Frank— or Gerard— was looking for. Frank wanted someone he could get along with, and someone who would understand the way they wanted the palace to be run.

Captain Dewees was... odd, but Frank liked him. He'd told Frank to call him "James", but refused to call Frank "Frank", sticking with "Milord." Frank wasn't sure if it was a subtler version of the old teasing "sir" he'd gotten from the Sudagio servants, but he decided that if it was, he didn't mind.

 

Frank now spent so much of his day talking to people that he didn't at all mind being ignored at official dinners. So he was rather flummoxed when, after dinner in the drawing room, he realized he was surrounded by a large group of lady courtiers. They didn't speak to him directly, because they hadn't been introduced, but they talked _around_ him, watching him with heavy glances and whispering behind their fans.

Frank did not know what to make of this or what to do, so he pasted a tight smile on his face and tried to hide in various corners, but without much success. He finally expressed his confusion to Mikey, who had a good laugh and then condescended to explain. "You've come out of nowhere, been knighted for no one knows what reason, and obviously have a great deal of influence over the king. No one knows anything about you, your family, how much money you have, or your politics. You speak to no one and appear in no salons or cafes and have no friends or alliances. You are an object of total mystery!"

"So... they want to figure me out?"

Mikey snorted. "You're incredibly unsuitable for a husband, but every married woman in Aquileia wants you for a lover. The woman whose salon you appear in first will have the social coup of her life."

Frank was aghast. _Courtiers!_ "How do you know all this?" he asked suspiciously. Mikey seemed to be having a great deal of fun at Frank's expense.

"They've been asking me about you," he said smugly.

Frank wanted to run away and hide and never look at anyone again. He resisted the urge to cover his face, but only barely. "What have you said?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Mikey smirked, and looked very pleased. "All sorts of things. I told someone I'd heard there was a Bohemian prince here under an assumed name, waiting to retake his throne. And someone else you were an Italian revolutionary driven into exile."

"Mikey," Frank groaned.

Mikey was having an excellent time. "There's also a rumor going around you're a Hungarian nobleman who fled into exile after killing an Austrian count who insulted the honor of his mistress. I've heard she was a farmer's daughter or a servant girl." When he saw Frank's face, Mikey held up his hands. "I swear I'm not responsible for that one."

"That one's my favorite," Gerard said from behind Frank, making him jump. He smiled sweetly. "Very romantic. Although I heard she was an actress."

Now Frank did have to hide his face, groaning into his hands. "What is wrong with you people?" he asked, mostly to himself.

"What was that Frank?" Gerard asked innocently. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Magyar." As he and Mikey laughed and leaned on each other, Frank gathered what remained of his dignity and excused himself with a short bow to get some air.

 

The remodeling of the royal apartments was finally finished. The plumbing and gas lines had been updated, in addition to the rooms being redecorated. The royal family was now all in the same wing. Frank was happy to be able to harass Mikey day and night again, and this put Ray closer too, but it also increased the likelihood of awkward accidental meetings with the Queen Mother.

The king's apartments now consisted of an antechamber, a large salon that used to be the state bedroom (apparently no one did state bedrooms anymore), a private study, and the actual bedroom, with french windows that opened into a private garden. There was a water closet and a dressing room with large frosted windows and a huge cast iron bathtub that Frank suspected was mostly for him.

"And we did this," Gerard took Frank by the hand to pull him away from the tub to the back of the dressing room and opened a panel door. It led into a much smaller closet that opened into a bedroom.

"This one's yours," Gerard said, almost bouncing in excitement. "Technically. It was Simon's idea."

"We have a _secret door?_ " Frank asked.

"Well... pretty much, yeah."

A secret door was the sort of thing Frank had pictured having in a palace. And this way, as far as anyone else knew, he could retire to his own room at night and be in Gerard's bed thirty seconds later. 

"Do you like it, then?"

"I do." He squeezed Gerard's hand. They beamed at each other until they heard Ray calling for Gerard from the king's salon.

 

"This is the state bed of Illyria," Gerard. "It's been in my family for, ah, four centuries now. Uh, something like that."

"Do we really have to talk about this now?" Frank complained. He'd been a little over-enthusiastic with the oil and between that and the sweat, his hands kept slipping off Gerard's hips. That was almost as frustrating as Gerard's little history lesson.

Frank stopped for a second to wipe his hands on the sheets. Gerard whined and pushed against him. "Don't _stop._ "

"Then stop _talking._ " Frank pulled almost all the way out and slammed back into Gerard as hard as he could. Gerard moaned, long and low, and Frank thought they were finally getting somewhere.

And then Gerard kept talking. "At least four kings have died in here. Officially it's five, but I'm pretty sure Hervard III actually died in the arms of his mistress somewhere else and then they moved him afterwards. _Harder,_ Frank. Oh, and several kings were actually born in here, too... God, Frankie, yes, like that."

"Are you, what are you..." Frank couldn't believe he was required to have a full conversation right now. "What the hell, Gerard?"

Gerard looked over his shoulder at Frank. Frank looked his eyes and the high color in his face and his obscene-looking mouth, and pieces fell into place. "You're getting off on this," he said.

"I'm _trying._ " Gerard wiggled his hips pointedly. 

"No, but you're—" he grinned— "you're getting off on being fucked in the big, ancient, state bed of Illyria."

"Maybe," Gerard said. "If you would _actually fuck me._ "

Frank would have burst into laughter, but he was a little short of breath. And also, he was busy.

He put a hand between Gerard's shoulders and shoved; Gerard gasped as he fell down, face pressed into the mattress. Frank moved the hand to Gerard's shoulder, which gave him better leverage, and started moving again.

"God YES, Frank, yes, right there. There, there, there," Gerard chanted, writhing, trying to push back against Frank, but Frank kept him pinned in place.

Frank fucked him, as hard and fast as he was capable of. Gerard thrashed and writhed underneath him and was really rather loud. Frank couldn't get any deeper inside him but oh, he wished he somehow could.

"You like that?" Frank scraped his teeth over Gerard's back. "You fucking love it, don't you? Think you're so subversive. But really you're just so _willing._ You'll just lie there and take it, won't you?"

"If you stop again I will throw you in jail," Gerard promised, panting.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm not gonna stop," Frank panted, biting along Gerard's spine. "Never gonna stop."

"Don't stop, don't." Gerard was wild underneath him, almost throwing Frank off, but Frank kept him pressed against the bed Gerard liked so much. Frank lost himself inside Gerard, inside the movement and the feel, and the long, loud moans Gerard was producing.

He pressed his face into Gerard's back. He didn't need air, he only needed _this._ He could feel everything in him focusing in and winding up, he was almost there, he was so close...

Gerard came without Frank even having to touch his cock. He cried out, long and loud, and it took Frank everything he had to hold out long enough to keep fucking Gerard through it. He barely made it, and when he came, it felt like it was coming from everywhere, from his teeth, from his bones. It felt like he was spilling everything he had into Gerard, and he was too overwhelmed to make his shout form Gerard's name.

When Frank's eyes focused again, he was still laying collapsed on Gerard's back, still inside Gerard. He was probably crushing Gerard— his breathing sounded a little labored, although it didn't seem like Gerard had tried to move at all.

Frank pulled out—slowly, painful on his oversensitive cock— and Gerard whimpered. Frank collapsed next to him, and they lay in a shared daze until their breathing finally steadied and Frank's head, at least, stopped spinning.

"God," Frank said. He really felt he ought to say _something_ after that, but there wasn't much in the way of thinking going on. Gerard moaned, which Frank took for agreement.

Once Frank felt his legs would hold him, he got up to wash. The water in the basin was still slightly warm, and it felt rather heavenly to get everything off him. Frank returned to the bedroom and wrinkled his nose, surveying the now thoroughly filthy bed. He didn't have any desire to get back in that, despite Gerard looking like he'd passed debauched a good hour ago.

"I'm not sleeping in that," Frank announced.

Gerard mumbled and cracked open an eye to look at Frank. "Why?"

Frank did not at all want to call in the servants to change the sheets at this hour. He didn't know how he'd look them in the eye, for starters. "Oh!" he said, feeling rather stupid. "We could sleep in the bed in— the other room." He decided against saying "my" room at the last second.

Gerard eyed him suspiciously. "Why?" he repeated, because he was lazy and disgusting.

"Get up," Frank said.

He had to haul Gerard off the bed, drag him into the dressing room, and wash him down. Gerard was pliant and wobbly, like jelly, and seemed content to let Frank move him around, or at least resigned. They went through the panel door and into the other room. Frank had not yet used the bed, and the sheets felt cold and stiff.

Gerard made little whimpering noises about it, but curled up on Frank's chest and let Frank pet his hair once they were settled in. The sheets warmed quickly, and Frank sighed, satisfied.

"I like this," he said. "One bed for sex, one bed for sleep." Gerard gave a grumble that Frank took to indicate Gerard thought all the extra moving around unnecessary, but his breathing was getting slow and deep, and he was soon asleep.

Simon told them off for "sneaking around and hiding" in the morning, and Gerard blamed Frank, saying he had "ridiculously high expectations." Frank just rolled his eyes and felt justified in aiming a kick at Gerard as he got out of bed, since he wasn't the one who had to be up by eight.

 

"So then somehow _I_ had to convince the old man to _let me_ buy a sitar— for an exorbitant price, of course—"

"Of course," Frank grinned.

"And I've been playing around with it for a couple weeks. I have no idea if I'm doing it right or not, but the instrument's beautiful and the sound almost unearthly."

"You'll have to find another band of gypsies," Frank suggested.

"Which you wouldn't think would be that hard, but—" Frank's latest interview candidate was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

A footman stuck his head in. "Forgive me, Milord, but His Majesty is looking for you. It's half past four."

Frank— and the gentleman he was interviewing— stared at the clock like the time couldn't possibly be right.

"Tell him I'll be right there," Frank said to the footman. He turned to his interviewee. "I completely lost track of time," he started to apologize, but the other man— whose name Frank had of course forgotten— was already gathering and things and also apologizing.

"I'm sorry to take up so much of your time, my lord," the man was saying. "Thank you for the interview."

"It was a pleasure," Frank said, and actually meant it. They shook hands and Frank noted the man might actually be shorter than he was, which was another mark in his favor.

He waited until the man left the office before scrambling on his desk to gather up the letters of introduction the man had brought, along with his appointment card so he could figure out the man's name. Frank grabbed his master-list of interview prospects and put a big star next to Patrick Stump's name.

Then he had to straighten his clothes, scrub some ink off his fingers, and rush off for the end of tea.

Gerard was quite forgiving when Frank got excited explaining they might have a new chamberlain, although Frank thought he could feel the Queen Mother disapproving from across the room when Frank mentioned the gypsies.

 

Frank's hiring of Mr. Stump was completed within a week. "I found another gypsy troupe," Mr. Stump said to him, a couple weeks later. "The performers are really quite impressive, well-mannered and accomplished. I don't suppose... do you think His Majesty would have any interest..?"

Frank only hesitated because he was imaging the Queen Mother's face when she heard gypsies would be invited to the palace. And then he imagined Gerard's face. "It's a wonderful idea," he grinned, and congratulated himself again on being an excellent hirer of chamberlains.

 

Gerard was really quite excited about the gypsies. He sat between Frank and Mikey in the front row, his foot tapping and his leg bouncing, occasionally knocking into Frank, possibly on purpose at least some of the time.

They all talked to the gypsies afterward, Gerard being enthusiastic at the singing girl while Frank and Ray and Mikey tried out some of the instruments. Gerard commended Mr. Stump on his choice, and commended Frank on his, as they walked back to their rooms. Gerard seemed happy and relaxed, and Frank commended himself on being an excellent mistress. Although if Simon called him that again, Frank wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

 

The snow was gone, but rain had taken its place, and it rained all the time. One grey, miserable day, Frank wandered into the music room to find Gerard already there, at the piano. He was playing something wild and plaintive that Frank didn't recognize.

"Are you hiding?" he asked.

Gerard jumped a little, but smiled when he saw Frank. "Not from you."

Frank carefully shut the door behind himself while Gerard resumed his music.

"The piano's in tune again," Gerard observed.

"I asked Mr. Stump to see to it," Frank explained.

Gerard smiled at him but kept playing.

Frank rested his chin on Gerard's shoulder and watched him play, the same measures, over and over. "Is it Russian?" he asked.

Gerard smiled down at the keys. "Not Russian, no."

After a few minutes Gerard stopped and sighed. "Something's not quite right," he said. "But I don't know what."

Frank slung his legs over the bench and sat down. "Maybe half a step down? Keep doing the melody."

Frank figured out what Gerard had been doing— he wasn't bad at playing by ear, at least— and moved it down a little. Gerard nodded thoughtfully as he continued with his melody. Frank added in a steady, low beat, and Gerard's face lit up.

"Fuller. That's better. I didn't realize it was for two people."

Frank said nothing but continued to try out little flourishes, watching Gerard's face carefully. He finally hit on one that won Gerard's nod. Frank automatically reached for the pedal only to find Gerard's foot already there, and they smiled at each other but didn't stop playing until the music was fixed in their heads.

Gerard finally let his hands rest on the keys and Frank did the same. "You're quite remarkable, Mr. Iero," Gerard said, his head tilted slightly to the side, his expression... left Frank feeling quite warm. He could only hope his neck and ears weren't too red.

He didn't know how to answer, so he shrugged. He wasn't a great pianist and wouldn't be— his hands were the wrong shape, not like Gerard's. Those hands now arranged themselves on Frank's head, pulling it around so Gerard could kiss him. Frank put his hands on Gerard's shoulders and just hung on.

"This is why you weren't a very good piano teacher," Frank teased, when he got a breath.

Gerard huffed a laugh. "It's not my fault you're so distracting."

Frank laughed too, until Gerard kissed him again. That always took precedence. Gerard ran his tongue along the backs of Frank's teeth, making him think of Gerard's hands on the piano keys, before sliding their tongues together.

Someone moaned, or whimpered, and Frank had to swing one leg to the other side of the bench so Gerard could pull him as close as he required. Then Gerard moved his mouth away and rested his cheek against Frank's neck. Frank could feel Gerard's hot breath on the back of his neck, and he pressed closer.

"You should write it down," Frank said, before Gerard drove him to all distraction.

"What?"

"The music."

"I won't forget," Gerard mumbled.

"Write it down," Frank insisted. He pushed Gerard off him and then Gerard finally gave in and helped locate a pen and ink. They wrote Gerard's music in the blank measures at the bottom of the sheet music that had been on the piano.

"Satisfied?" Gerard asked, as if he hadn't been most careful and exacting once they were actually writing it down.

Frank smiled as if he was about to say yes but instead said "No. I want a Spanish guitar."

Gerard laughed. "Buy it yourself," he said. "Or do you want it to be a gift from me?"

"Yes," Frank said, and leaned his head on Gerard's shoulder.

"Fine," Gerard sighed, over-dramatic. "Pick one out and put my name on the card."

Frank giggled and stayed cozied up to Gerard's side, arms wrapped around Gerard's left arm. Gerard grew quiet, and slowly pushed the sheet music around with his right hand, looking at the notes they'd written along the bottom. 

"I wish it was like this, instead," Gerard said.

"What do you mean?" Frank tilted his head to look at Gerard's face, which now looked grave and brooding. "Isn't it like this?"

"No, I mean— I wish I wasn't king."

This sounded as if it could become very grave indeed. "What would you rather be?" Frank asked, trying to keep it light-hearted. Gerard seemed like he needed light-hearted.

"Anything," Gerard said flatly. "An artist." He nodded at the piano. "A musician, maybe."

"You'd still have to be at court all the time," Frank pointed out. "Sucking up. Or out on the streets."

"At least we could go where we liked," Gerard muttered.

"I understand sometimes heads of state issue invitations to other heads of state." Frank continued to tease him because he didn't know what else to do. Gerard had never been so unhappy in exile, at least not when Frank was with him.

Gerard put his fingers back on the keys and played the ghost of their harmony from before, but only for a few seconds before crashing his fingers down on the keys.

"I apologize," Gerard said, but didn't look at him.

Frank couldn't deny he was startled, and worried. He laid a cautious hand on the back of Gerard's neck, and when he didn't get shaken off, gently rubbed Gerard's shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked. "Will you tell me?"

Gerard continued to stare straight ahead as he spoke. "My mother seems to have found a girl she approves of for me to marry. She keeps putting us very much together. It's not the girl's fault; I think her father is very ambitious. She seems to prefer Mikey, anyway."

Frank forced himself to speak. "You think everyone prefers Mikey."

"Isn't it true?" Gerard smiled wanly.

"I prefer you," Frank said.

"Poor Frank," Gerard said, and for a moment Frank wondered if Gerard even realized he wasn't talking to himself. "Sometimes I wonder what I've done to you."

Frank had taken too many blows not to hit back. "What does that mean?" he snapped. His hand had removed itself from Gerard at some point and now he curled his fists in his lap.

Gerard shrugged, but he was obviously just avoiding. "Maybe I should have left you where you were," he said. "That would have been the noble thing to do."

If Gerard hadn't been king, Frank would have laid violent hands on him. "Innocence born out of ignorance isn't better, it's just... ignorance. Naivety," Frank added, as the word occurred to him. "I've never done anything I haven't wanted to do, Gerard. _Never._ " He tugged on Gerard's shoulder, trying to get him to look at him. "And from where I'm sitting, Gerard, what you've done is turn a stable boy into a knight. That can't be that bad, can it?"

Gerard smiled at him, a little uncertainly, but still a smile. "You've given me _everything,_ " Frank continued. "And I just... want to figure out how to give you something back." He hadn't thought of it that way until he'd said it, not really, but it made something inside click into place.

Gerard released a long sigh, but it had the sound of easing tension, not despair or pain. He turned and laid his head on Frank's shoulder. "No matter what happens," he murmured, "I don't want you ever to doubt that you're first in my heart. Not ever."

Frank had to shut his eyes and take a couple of deep breaths.

Ray found them eventually. He sent Gerard off and looked apologetically at Frank. "I didn't want to interrupt," he said. "Because it seems like the only time he laughs anymore is when he's with you."

Frank had nothing to say to that; instead he methodically gathered all of their written music and took it away to transcribe it onto its own sheet paper. Frank made two clean copies, and left one in the music room and one on Gerard's desk in their apartments.

_Chapter 8_

Gerard was working on another speech. It kept him up late again, but this time he didn't let Frank— or anyone else, as far as Frank knew— read it. 

"Do you even know what it's about?" Frank asked Ray. But Ray didn't know anymore than Mikey did.

Gerard did sometimes ask Frank odd questions; what poor people's houses were like, how easy it was to buy food in the winter, what village schools were like. Frank was baffled, and it drove him almost mad with curiosity, but Gerard refused to disclose his reasons.

On the positive side, Frank got to read their new novel unmolested; usually Gerard stole the book from him at the most interesting parts and left it in some unlikely spot. He was lying in bed, trying to read, and wondering what time Gerard was coming to bed. It was already after midnight, so Frank decided he might as well give up reading and try to get Gerard to come to bed (and possibly sneak a peek at what he was working on).

When Frank stuck his head around the door of Gerard's study, though, he found Gerard hunched over the desk, a pile of papers around him and the gas lamp still turned up high. Gerard was down to his shirt sleeves and his cuffs were undone. His hair was a wild nest where he'd been running his hands through it, and Frank could well imagine Gerard's entire front was spattered with ink. Gerard was muttering to himself and scratched out something on the paper before him with violent motions.

Frank was torn. He watched Gerard in silence for a few moments, then decided against interrupting him. He returned to bed, thoughtful, and shut off the light. He woke up sometime when the sky was barely grey; Gerard, at least, was next to him, so Frank rolled to face him and went back to sleep.

 

Gerard showed up unexpectedly to "help him practice" fencing one morning. Frank had been practicing regularly but Gerard was still better, which was a little frustrating. When Frank realized he was going to lose, he lunged in with his free hand and squeezed between Gerard's legs— not _hard,_ of course, just enough to change the game.

Gerard gasped, which made Frank laugh a little. "Cheating," Gerard said, dropping his foil and pushing Frank up against the wall. 

"Sorry," Frank giggled, letting his foil drop to the floor and not sorry at all. "It's all that parrying and thrusting, I guess."

Gerard rolled his eyes and bit Frank's neck, sending a wave of heat straight to Frank's dick. He whined and thrust up against Gerard.

Gerard shoved Frank up higher on the wall, until Frank could wrap his legs around Gerard's waist. This wasn't going to last— he could feel himself starting to slip already— but it didn't have to. Gerard's fingers were biting into him, but all Frank cared about was the friction between them, Gerard's cock hard against his even through the layers of clothes. Frank crushed his mouth against Gerard's, biting more than kissing.

"Isn't this what you came here for?" Frank gasped, pulling on Gerard's shirt to try and stop himself from slipping down, even as Gerard was grinding him into the wall.

Gerard looked up at him, eyes glittering, but for once didn't say anything. Frank almost wanted to take a moment to commemorate that, but his nails happened to scratch down Gerard's neck as Frank was scrabbling at him, and Gerard gasped "Fuck, Frankie."

Gerard was going to lose it. Frank loved the way he looked when he was about to come, sweat on his face, mouth open, and eyes glazed but still really, really focused, really _there,_ a lot more than he usually was; all that focus and attention on Frank, only Frank. "Gee," he groaned, "Gerard, please..." he was so fucking close.

Frank pulled on Gerard's hair, tipping his head back, and licked at the sweat on Gerard's neck. Gerard's thrusting was erratic now, and Frank's feet almost back on the floor. Frank leaned his head back far enough to look Gerard in the eyes. It was almost too much this way, but then Gerard shut his eyes and threw his head back and shouted something that must have meant Frank's name. Just watching Gerard come was enough for Frank; more than enough, really, and he pulled Gerard's hips close as he came against him.

Frank slipped down until his feet were both on the floor, and then they just continued down until they were slumped on the floor, still holding on to bits of each other's clothing. "Fuck, Frank, you..." but Gerard trailed off in favor of panting against Frank's shoulder. Frank didn't mind.

"We've ruined our trousers," Frank said eventually. "Again. Simon's going to be angry. And disappointed." 

Gerard laughed and tugged at the back of Frank's shirt until he could slide his hands up Frank's back. "I missed you," he whispered.

"You found me," Frank pointed out.

"Mmh, yeah." Gerard appeared to be settling in against Frank's shoulder. Frank tried to readjust their positions, at least stretch his legs out, but Gerard was nearly immovable. Frank shrugged to himself. He wrapped his arms around Gerard and leaned his head against Gerard's.

"Have you not been sleeping again?" Frank asked. Gerard only gave an ambiguous noise in response. 

"I love you," Frank said, even though it was perhaps a bit odd to say now, in a fencing practice space after having just come in their pants, and Gerard half-asleep. It still felt like the thing to say.

In response— or Frank assumed in response— Gerard curled his fingers in the waistband of Frank's trousers. Frank let him sleep on him until James came knocking on the door, wanting to know if they'd knocked each other unconscious.

 

Gerard's speech today was public, given from a balcony overlooking the Centralne Mesto, the large, central plaza considered the heart of Aquileia. It was packed with a truly terrifying amount of people, even though half the plaza was taken up with seats for dignitaries. The plaza was lined with police, and soldiers, and carriages containing high born ladies.

Despite the crowd, Gerard seemed calmer than before the last speech, pale but composed. The substance of the speech was still a secret, which made Frank (and Ray) nervous.

Frank went out for some fresh air. He wasn't planning on spending this speech in the audience— Gerard didn't seem to need it— but he surveyed the place with interest, especially the food vendors. 

"Lord Sudagio?"

Frank still wasn't used to the title, and he was always a bit startled when someone addressed him with it. Especially when that someone was a young lady Frank didn't know.

She was certainly noble, although Frank was somewhat stunned by the idea of a young lady of good breeding addressing him when they hadn't been introduced. And Frank hadn't been introduced to any of them.

He gave a short bow. "May I assist you, signora?"

"I've very sorry to importune you in this manner," she said, dropping a slight curtsey, "but would you please be so kind as to deliver this to His Majesty for me?"

She held out a rather thick letter. Frank took it automatically.

"Thank you so much; I am in your debt." She dropped another curtsey, looked over her shoulder anxiously, and melted back into the crowd.

Frank put the letter in his pocket, a bit numb. He'd known, in a vague way, that once people figured out he was the king's favorite, they would ask him for favors, want to use him to get close to the king. He just hadn't expected to be asked to deliver _love letters._

Truly, Frank didn't know what the letter was about, but a love letter seemed more likely than anything else. Part of him was tempted to just throw it away, but Frank knew that did him no credit. Besides, the paper did not actually smell of rose water or anything else, and the packet was rather oddly-shaped. It was just paper, judging from the sound and feel, but it was still odd.

He went back inside and found Gerard where he had left him, looking a little more ill than he had before. Gerard glanced up as Frank came over. "There you are," he said, a touch petulantly.

Frank sat down on the sofa next to him, as close as he could be without actually sitting in Gerard's lap. "Here," he held out the letter. "A young lady gave this to me to give to you."

Gerard grabbed the letter and opened it. Frank couldn't blame him; who _wouldn't_ be interested in a letter with that kind of introduction? The curious shape was explained— there was another folded envelope inside. There was also a single sheet of paper with a few lines on it; it was this Gerard read. He scanned it quickly, then promptly replaced the paper in the outer envelope and tucked the whole thing in a pocket. He then returned his gaze to the text of his speech, and his legs resumed jiggling nervously against Frank's.

Frank stared at him. _Seriously?_

Annoyed, Frank stood up and paced a few turns around the room. He didn't have any right to Gerard's private mail, he told himself sternly. Put like that, Frank even agreed with himself and calmed down. He wouldn't want Gerard reading his letters to Chloe, and Frank strongly disagreed with the all-too-common idea that husbands had the right to read their wives' letters.

Having regained control, he returned to sit next to Gerard, who seemed to take Frank's pacing as an act of nerves on his behalf and said nothing about it. Frank put a hand on Gerard's knee, which was still bouncing next to his. Gerard covered Frank's hand with his own, and they remained that way until everything was ready.

Frank stood at the window just to the right of the balcony door, open so he could hear clearly.

Gerard, looking slightly overwhelmed but still game, thanked the crowd for their attendance and attention. "It's been my honor and my privilege to serve you as your king, and these past few months have been both humbling and gratifying. I have been moved, again and again, by the dedication and strength of commitment the people of Illyria have expressed for their families, their cities, and their country."

Frank was impressed. Gerard was full of a truly astonishing amount of shit. He smiled, and leaned against the wall, settling in for the kind of speech the lower classes would eat up and the nobility could feel smugly superior about.

"We are, all of us, vital pieces of the nation. We all have our parts to play, from the grandest noble to the youngest shopgirl. And not one of those roles is more important than any other. We're all equal under the law, and as a society, we can't afford to leave even one person behind."

Wait, Frank thought. What? The aristocracy wouldn't be too amused with that.

"You should not walk by anyone in the streets with coldness or indifference; you should see no one fall down without offering them a hand up. You wouldn't leave a child out alone in the cold, and yet every night, across Illyria, women and children are forced to fend for themselves to find someplace safe, let alone warm, to sleep. And many more families, every winter, are forced to chose between starving or freezing in their sleep. And yet there are those able to feed their dogs better than some men can feed their families."

The seated rows were starting to lean over and whisper to each other, and reporters were scribbling frantically. Frank himself had no idea where Gerard was going with this.

"It has been the tendency of those who have plenty to look with scorn upon those who have little, finding in them faults of birth and breeding and character. But how can a man— or a lady— better himself and raise his condition when the whole of society works to keep him in his place or grind him further down? Men are chaff, it is said, to be ground between the millstones of the world, but I am looking right now at men, and women, and children, and I can see that you are not chaff. And if men are wheat, shouldn't we at least treat our citizens, our fellow men, our families, at least as carefully as you'd treat a bag of wheat? Do you scatter wheat along the cobblestones, or do you carefully husband it, making sure to get the full use of each measure?"

It was not applause, Frank thought, but there was a wave of noise as Gerard's words were passed back to those too far to hear. It was respectful, though. Or perhaps they were all too eager to hear what would come out of the king's mouth next.

"There is no man incapable of either nobility or vice, and the only way to achieve the best of people is to allow them to show themselves at their finest. Men must be allowed to look after their own destinies. The surest way of allowing a fair chance for every man is the privilege and duty of suffrage. As you all know, according to our constitution, all landowners now have the right to vote. But there are far fewer landowners than there are citizens. And I say, that if you pay taxes to the government, you should have a voice in how those monies are spent. If you are a taxpayer, you should have the right to vote, no matter how small your contribution, no matter what your station or position in society."

He had to stop then, because the noise got very great. It wasn't the quality in front, who had been scandalized into silence, but the people packed in the back, the people Gerard was actually talking to, who were roaring. Approval. Probably.

Gerard thought so; he was beaming.

"The people in France have lately instituted universal suffrage, and it has swept away reactionary forces. I call upon Parliament here and now to alter the constitution to reflect the values and people of Illyria, and advance us among the highest level of nations by allowing universal suffrage. I promise you, that when the people of Illyria speak, we will listen!"

This the crowd definitely liked very well. Frank clutched the door frame, as he was feeling giddy. He thought the crowd might be chanting "Long live the King!", although it was hard to make out.

"We must have universal suffrage," Gerard continued, "and we must act with reason, sensitivity, and humanity with this responsibility, as with all our responsibilities."

Frank thought that might calm the nobility a little, but then Gerard went on to speak of working class conditions. He spoke of dangerous factories, where women lost hands and children lost lives. He spoke of bitterly poor living conditions, some of which Frank recognized, but for others he had no idea where Gerard had obtained such information.

Beneath his formal pose and language Gerard was passionate, and this shone out. Frank didn't know how far this carried across the crowd, but it must have reached some of them. They were cheering every pause, and this just made Gerard light up more, made him freer in tone and gesture.

Frank couldn't take his eyes off him. This wasn't unusual, to be fair, but there was something _different_ about Gerard up there in front of the crowd. Frank didn't have a name for it, but it whatever it was, Gerard was good at it.

Gerard's point, it turned out, was that as long as poverty existed, none of them could truly be free. "Parliament must immediately establish laws concerned with the protection of the poorest workers, addressing a standardization of wage and fair labor practices, and with an especial concern to those workers who are members of the fairer sex. 

"And to those who still maintain that there is no place for women outside the home, I will say to you that the world does not agree with this antiquated idea. The presence of ladies working in factories is a fact and in some instances a necessity. A human being, regardless of sex, has the right to earn their living, and it is upon us to assure that female workers have as much employment opportunity as men."

Someone in the room behind Frank muttered "Next he'll be wanting to give them the vote." Frank turned around but everyone was now paying careful attention to Gerard, so Frank just sent a general glare at the room.

Gerard was speaking about the importance of making sure women had adequate educational opportunities, as well. Frank watched the crowd again, more carefully than before. Many of the lords on the chairs looked outraged; the reporters looked ecstatic, no doubt plotting headlines and anticipating high sales. From what Frank could see, the people in the back looked torn between shock and delight. 

Gerard seemed to have run out of shocking statements; he was now wrapping up, cheerfully recapping his major points vis-a-vis legislation he expected to see enacted. Frank couldn't tell if Gerard's excellent mood was due to the approbation from the crowd or if he found shock and outrage amusing and entertaining. It was probably both.

Gerard looked transcendent, whatever the cause, as he finished his speech in a roar of noise. He beamed and waved at the chants of "Long live the King!"; they sounded fierce.

It was, Frank thought, both a roaring success and a disaster. He couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or lay down in a dark room for a while.

"How much of this is your fault?" Count Szerlim asked him, stepping up next to him and talking out of the corner of his mouth as he applauded Gerard.

Frank was about to deny everything, but paused. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know how much of an effect I've had on him in terms of opportunities for the lower classes." Surely even Szerlim couldn't blame him for the parts about women. 

Szerlim gave him an assessing look; Frank returned it. "He didn't let me read it either," Frank said. "If you were wondering."

"I was," the count sounded grim. "So His Majesty's folly is entirely his own?"

Frank struggled to restrain himself. "I realize he— His Majesty— overstepped his bounds by quite a lot, dictating social policy to Parliament, but there's nothing he said that merits being described as folly."

Szerlim gave him a very a shrewd look, and Frank knew he was being judged, but had no idea what conclusions Szerlim reached. "I'm less concerned with the constitution," Szerlim said, "than international reaction."

Frank was not at all surprised to find Szerlim, who was obviously a royalist of the oldest sort, unconcerned about the constitution, but he was surprised Szerlim was speaking to him about it.

Frank took a deep breath. "I understand," he said. "It was... nontraditional."

Szerlim's mouth twitched. Emboldened, Frank added "But I thought he made it clear this was internal policy. Unless you think the mention of France..?"

Szerlim nodded, rather grimly. 

As soon as Gerard stepped back inside, they all— including Count Szerlim, including Frank— descended on him like a flock of vultures. "Your Majesty," Szerlim's voice cut above everyone else's. "Very well read, sire. I must speak with you immediately."

Gerard ignored him in favor of talking rapidly to Mikey, with an occasional aside to Ray. He began heading for the exit right away, and Frank just trailed behind.

Gerard didn't stop until he was outside in the courtyard. He patted Mikey on the shoulder and pushed him away, then looked around the crowd.

"Your Majesty," the Prime Minister said, "That was... a most interesting address, sire, and if you would grant me a few moments..."

"Sire," Szerlim tried again, without compunction about interrupting a mere elected official, "there is an urgent matter to discuss. If I may be permitted to accompany you back to the palace in—"

"I'll ride alone," Gerard said sharply. Szerlim bowed and turned away, and the others followed suit. As soon as Frank turned around, Gerard shot out an arm and grabbed Frank by the collar. " _Not_ you," he said. "You're with me."

Frank wasn't sure how he felt about not being a separate person, but he got in the carriage after Gerard.

Gerard reached past him to pull the curtains over the windows shut. "Did you like it? What did you think?" Gerard fumbled his hands along Frank's arms.

"You were very good," Frank said. "But— Gerard, what is it?"

"I wanted to be alone with you." Gerard sounded oddly breathless, and leaned over and kissed Frank. Frank kissed back automatically, one of his hands coming up to rest on Gerard's chest.

"Frankie," Gerard sounded positively urgent. And he took Frank's hand from his chest and put it in his lap, where Frank found Gerard already hard.

"Really?" Frank asked. "I mean— really?"

Gerard just whined and pressed Frank's hand down harder. Frank laughed a little in disbelief, but obligingly curled his hand around Gerard. He rubbed Gerard through his trousers, and Gerard leaned back, whimpering, and pushed into Frank's hand.

"Okay, okay," Frank said, still mostly amused. "Hold on." He took his hand back and had to slap Gerard's hand away. "I said hold on."

He looked around, shrugged, and moved off the bench. It wasn't very comfortable, down on his knees on the carriage floor, with the carriage jouncing him around, but Gerard's stuttering gasp was good incentive, and they didn't have very long, so Frank had to make this fast.

He undid Gerard's trousers just enough to free Gerard's cock. Frank opened his mouth, relaxed his throat, and swallowed. Gerard almost jumped off the bench and Frank had to back off.

"Sorry," Gerard said meekly.

"It's okay," Frank said, wrapping his hand around Gerard's cock. "Try to behave yourself this time, though." He did it all again, and this time Gerard did restrain himself, at least until Frank gave him a go-ahead signal.

The carriage's bouncing actually did quite a lot of the work for them— it was nearly enough to just let it bounce them around. Gerard just rocked his hips a little, and babbled quite a few truly filthy things about Frank's mouth.

Gerard's timing was good; he came just a few moments before they made the big turn into the palace drive. "God, Frank," he sighed, slumping against the seats.

Frank wiped his mouth and sat on the seat again. He tucked Gerard back into his trousers, and tried to straighten Gerard's clothes.

Gerard hummed, sounding satisfied and happy, and without opening his eyes wrapped an arm around Frank's shoulders and pulled him close, making Frank half tip-over at an awkward angle.

"That was wonderful," he said. "You're wonderful. I want to suck you now."

"Okay," Frank said, pushing Gerard's hands away, "but we're here."

"What? What are you doing?" he grabbed for Frank again.

Frank giggled, even though he was more than a little hard himself. "We're home, Gerard, time to get out of the carriage."

"Oh!" Gerard finally seemed to come to his senses— as much as he ever did— and blinked around. The carriage had stopped, and Frank was sure footmen were milling around, wondering why no signal to open the doors had been given.

Frank rapped on the door and it was opened immediately. Frank pulled his feet up to let Gerard get out first.

"I can't believe giving a speech had such an effect on you," Frank whispered as Gerard climbed past him. "You're a pervert."

"Shut up," Gerard hissed.

Frank was pretty well entertained watching Gerard pretend he hadn't just gotten sucked off in the royal carriage. Frank had to adjust his own trousers— subtly, he hoped— after he climbed out of the carriage.

Szerlim had cornered Gerard almost as soon as Gerard had his feet on the ground. "Your Majesty, I request a private audience."

Gerard sent a rather dramatic, complicated look at Frank. "Well, I was rather thinking I'd, um, be busy in my study now."

"I'm afraid I must insist. This is a matter that cannot wait."

Frank inclined his head a little, letting Gerard go. He could wait. 

"I can spare a few minutes," Gerard said magnanimously. Szerlim looked grim, however, and Frank bet it would be more than a few minutes.

Gerard went inside, heading for his office. Frank was startled and instantly defensive when Szerlim stopped him at the door.

"I feel your presence might be helpful, Lord Sudagio," Szerlim said. "If you are free?" His tone indicated that Frank could not possibly have anything to do of greater priority than this meeting.

Frank was just stunned at being asked. "You _want_ me there?"

"You've shown more wit than expected," Szerlim said. As if _he_ wasn't the one who'd told Frank he had no real place here. "You seem to grasp the situation. And your powers of persuasion over the king are obviously considerable. I am accustomed to taking advantage of every opportunity open to me, Lord Sudagio." He paused, and Frank nodded to show he understood. "You may wish to wipe your face first." He turned and walked away, leaving Frank embarrassed, confused, and somewhere under that, rather pleased.

He hurried to splash water on his face and check his reflection, then ran to Gerard's study. Ray was leaving when Frank arrived, looking out of sorts, and in too much of a hurry to stop.

Frank slipped in, and found himself alone with Gerard and Szerlim.

"I beg your indulgence, sire, but I feel I must speak bluntly," Szerlim said.

"I'm sure I've never stopped you from that," Gerard said. He was still flushed, light-hearted and laughing.

"What you have done, sire, with this address, was incredibly reckless."

"To you maybe," Gerard said, all unconcerned arrogance. "I felt it needed to be done."

"No doubt your concern for the comfort of the lower classes wins you many admirers among people your age. But they are not your peers, sire. Kings are your peers."

Gerard threw himself on a sofa. He patted the seat next to him, which Frank supposed was directed to him, but Frank was too agitated to sit down. He stood next to the sofa arm instead.

"Believe it or not, Count, I am perfectly aware of my position and titles," Gerard said. "And I hope other heads of state do take notice. Perhaps they will implement some reforms in their own countries. Did you know that in Vienna—" and then Gerard was off on some story about living conditions for factory workers. 

Frank realized the count would never interrupt Gerard, and that this meant Gerard would never stop talking.

Frank cleared his throat, loudly. Gerard looked at him, curious, and his words faltered. Count Szerlim was clever enough to take advantage.

"Sire, forgive me, but it is precisely the Austrians we must worry about. They were very badly shocked by the 1848 events, and to hear you speaking now, and with such high praises of France— and they will hear about it— will cause them a great deal of concern. Franz Joseph may cease to be friendly."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "In what way has his friendship made any difference to me? The way they do things in Austria is not the way we do things in Illyria, and why shouldn't they know it?"

Szerlim continued trying to tell Gerard that his speech wouldn't win him any friends abroad, quite the opposite, but he was so accustomed to talking in diplomatic circles he couldn't baldly state the kind of trouble they might be in.

To his horror, Frank found himself agreeing with Szerlim. But the count wasn't getting his point across. Gerard was just getting annoyed, repeating he wasn't an Austrian vassal.

Frank couldn't take it anymore. "They'll think you're a Jacobean." The words burst out, but he felt better once he'd spoken.

Gerard— and the count— looked at him, startled. "I can't be a Jacobean and a monarch," Gerard insisted.

"You do read a lot of Rousseau," Frank said, trying to be a bit more delicate. Gerard just seemed to find that amusing. "Look, sire,"— he added after a glance at the count, although the word felt strange on his tongue— "they're all paranoid about the French empire and the new Napoleon. Franz Joseph is a reactionary. With this speech, they're going to try and convince half the crowned heads of Europe that you're coming for them in the night!"

He thought that might be approval on Szerlim's face. Heady stuff.

Gerard looked taken aback, and a little defensive. "They can try," he said, "but who's going to believe that?"

Frank forgot himself and cried "Gerard, they're _Habsburgs._ They _are_ half the crowned heads of Europe!"

Gerard looked at him open-mouthed. Frank tried not to notice what a good look it was on him. Gerard looked back and forth between Frank and the count. "You're ganging up on me," he said, almost in awe.

"Believe me, sire," the Count said dryly, "we're as surprised as you are. And surely you must realize this is the triumph of pure reason over every other consideration?"

Frank snorted, a tiny bit.

Gerard looked rather winded. "So what do you think I should do?" he asked, flicking quick glances at both of them.

"Summon the British ambassador," Szerlim said promptly. "Establishing solid, friendly relations with Britain will make it clear you are no friend to France while still keeping you independent from Austria."

"I like France," Gerard said, but his voice was hesitant and quiet.

Szerlim waved this away. " _Everyone_ likes France, sire, that has nothing to do with it. I dare say even Metternich could have a good time in Paris. But France is far away, and Austria is on our every doorstep."

"England's even further than France," Gerard pointed out.

"But the British Navy is everywhere. Even Port Angelo."

The kings of Illyria had worked so hard for so long to retain their independence from Austria that the worst thing one could do now would be to lose it.

"What about the Piedmont?" Frank asked.

"Two small states don't equal a great one," the count said.

"An alliance with Savoy would make your position against Austria clear," Frank pressed.

"What sort of alliance do you propose?" Szerlim looked smug. "Marriage?"

Frank glared at him. "That's enough," Gerard snapped, also glaring at Szerlim. "I think _friendly_ relations with Savoy are a good idea. And perfectly possible."

"The King of Lombardy-Venetia will feel hemmed in," Szerlim warned.

"Good," Gerard said. "They're not a native dynasty and the Italians don't want to be part of Austria."

Szerlim gave Gerard a searching look. "You think you can count on a native uprising if things go wrong? After '48?"

"France has a revolution every ten years," Gerard said.

"The Italians are not the French, sire. If you expect them to be, you'll end in trouble. However, I can only advise. The final decision must be yours. Alone." He cut his eyes at Frank. Frank wanted to reach for his sword and fisted his hands to stop himself. _He_ was trying. Szerlim was the one being a bastard here.

"I'm glad you remember your position, Count," Gerard said, and Szerlim looked slightly chastised. "I will think on this problem a while. You're dismissed, Count Szerlim, thank you for your assistance."

Frank didn't watch him leave, instead walking over to the window to look out on the gardens. It was raining now and the view was fuzzy and blurred. The windows were slightly steamed on the inside. This place always had _weather_ of some sort, Frank thought. He'd never appreciated the gentle coastal temperatures so much before.

"Let's get out of this room," Gerard groaned. "I feel like a prisoner in here. Let's go find a sandwich tray."

 

"Well, but if we just completely invaded Lombardy-Venetia..."

"You could split it!" Frank suggested. "Savoy could get Lombardy and we'd get the Venetia."

Gerard giggled into Frank's neck. "Do you want to be the Duke of Venice?"

Frank thought about it, scrunching his face. "But wouldn't I have to live in Venice then? And you'd still be here? No, that's no good."

Gerard twisted around, grabbed Frank's face, and kissed him. They were hiding in someone's abandoned study, laying on a deep carpet.

"Do you really think I made a mistake with that speech?" Gerard asked.

Frank wasn't sure why what he thought mattered, but Gerard had asked. "I wouldn't call it a mistake," he replied. "It was perhaps reckless, but if it's what you mean to do, then you might as well get started on it." They were both silent a moment, and then Frank added "And maybe warn us, next time, huh?"

Gerard giggled and rolled his head until it lay against Frank's. "Sorry. I will, then. And when you say 'us'... who exactly do you mean, darling?"

Frank groaned, as he expected he was going to get teased about agreeing with Szerlim. "I meant me and Mikey and Ray, of course."

"Uh-huh," Gerard said, his fingers restless at the waistband of Frank's trousers. 

"Shut up," Frank said.

"Shocking disrespect," Gerard said, his fingers now tapping on the buttons of Frank's waistcoat, which were made of some ridiculous expensive material, instead of normal buttons. "What would the rest of the court think if they could hear that?"

"I'm not a courtier," Frank said.

"Are you sure?" Gerard's tone was teasing, but it made Frank wonder. Well, he _would_ wonder about it later.

Now, Gerard rolled over him, bracing himself above Frank, not actually touching him. "The first time we ever met you cheeked me," Gerard mused. "Now it's out of control. I should have had you whipped."

Frank tried to remain solemn, but he didn't try very hard. "One," he said, "I didn't know who you were. Two, I'm pretty sure you liked it."

"Pretty sure?"

Frank wrapped his hands in Gerard's lapels and pulled him down. He felt this required a non-verbal response. And Gerard owed him, anyway.

 

_Chapter 9_

Frank was with Mikey, Ray, and Count Szerlim when Gerard received the British ambassador. The man was tall, and fully bald despite not being so very much older. He wore it better than Szerlim, being very striking in appearance, and his suit looked nicer than Gerard's, although that may have been Gerard being unable to keep a suit neat and pressed, or it might have been English tailoring, as Mikey suggested.

There were elaborate formal greetings, carefully scripted, and then they sat down on a group of fine looking, though not very comfortable, sofas and chairs. The ambassador began talking— in French. Frank tried not to look disappointed. _Of course_ he was speaking in French. They were all upper class— everyone but him— and the phrase _lingua franca_ existed for a reason, after all.

Gerard didn't even glance at Frank, but when he answered, it was in Italian. The ambassador switched to Italian immediately. Frank tried not to look too grateful or excited, either; it wouldn't do. He clenched his hands in his lap and really, really loved Gerard.

An hour later, Frank was rethinking his previous position. Gerard was _annoying._ He was also acting like a girl, tossing his head so his hair fell in his face and looking up through his long eyelashes. And giggling. Frank knew that personal relationships played a larger part in foreign affairs than was usually acknowledged; he also knew that much of diplomacy was acting, but he'd never heard anything about playing the coquette. He was ready to drag Gerard off by his hair and lock him in a closet.

"And do all Englishmen feel this way?" Gerard said, in response to whatever political question Ambassador Morrison had been talking about. He took a sip of tea, his lips unnecessarily round, every movement exaggerated delicacy. 

"I wouldn't know," the ambassador replied, slow and easy, eyes twinkling. "I'm Scottish."

"I just made a horrible faux pas, didn't I?" Gerard smiled, all cheek and charm and in no way apologetic.

"Sire," replied the ambassador, also smiling, "if you weren't a king, I'd challenge you."

Gerard laughed. Frank didn't think it had been _that_ funny. "Fortunately, I have Lord Sudagio here to settle questions of honor for me. He's been practicing."

And everyone looked at Frank.

The look in Gerard's eyes was... entirely inappropriate for state occasions. Frank couldn't look at him without blushing, so he looked away quickly.

The ambassador's gaze, in contrast, was speculative and curious— not cold, but cool. He was here to play a game, and he was very good at it.

Frank nodded at the ambassador and then at Gerard. "As Your Majesty says," he murmured. He knew Mikey and Ray would tease him, and he didn't dare look at them.

Mercifully, the talk turned to terms of the treaty after that. Frank was going to find a closet with locks on. Large ones.

 

The terms were agreed on very smoothly and quickly; or quickly for international politics, Frank was given to understand. So perhaps the flirting did have a purpose. He took his revenge on Gerard each night of the negotiations, and as this vengeance was considered highly enjoyable by both parties, Frank conceded he wasn't really in a position to complain. Mikey and Ray did tease him, but Frank was feeling quite benevolent lately.

And he might even condescend to admit Ambassador Morrison wasn't so bad, for a politician. He seemed to _like_ Gerard, and not in a negotiating-with-a-king way, but a derail-the-talks-for-three-hours-to-discuss-Gothic-novels way. That had been a fun afternoon, and Count Szerlim had spent the entire time looking like he might throw himself out the window, which to Frank was like receiving a lovely bouquet of flowers and then finding out they were made entirely of sugar.

There was still something about Ambassador Morrison Frank found unsettling, however. There was a sort of measured consideration in his eyes whenever he looked at Frank that made Frank feel exposed. Frank told himself it was simply that the ambassador knew Frank was of the wrong class to be a Lord and was curious about his promotion, but Frank could not thoroughly convince himself.

Gerard had signed over docking rights to the British Navy and her allies, and substantially lowered tariffs on the British East India Company. In return, they had Britain's public assurance of friendship, a private assurance of defense from Austrian attack, and some minor trading deals. The British had also wanted a commitment of Illyrian soldiers in the event of Britain becoming involved in a war in the area, but Gerard had held firm against that. ("You may stage your troops here," Gerard had said, "but none of my soldiers are going anywhere.")

 

It was fully spring now, so they had a little garden party to celebrate the signing of the treaty. Of course, a "little" garden party thrown by the palace ended up having 200 guests. For the first time, Frank saw the benefit of having a queen. The Queen Mother arranged most of it because there wasn't anyone else, but she made it clear she didn't appreciate the task. It was a lot of work. Frank, who was the closest thing there was to a queen, didn't mind answering a few questions for Mr. Stump, but he wouldn't have wanted to have to plan the whole thing.

The day of the party was sunny, at least, and the air mostly warm, although the wind was chill, blowing down on Aquileia off snowy peaks. Frank had been sniffling a little, so Gerard and Simon made Frank wear a scarf (quite literally: Gerard had held him down while Simon tied a scarf around his neck). Frank was the only one wearing a scarf but he didn't mind; he was happy enough to sit in the sun with Ray and gossip about the guests.

They were making fun of Mikey, who was surrounded by a flock of admirers both male and female, and Gerard, tugged around the crowd on his mother's arm.

Frank's rude comments were derailed when he saw the girl who'd given him the letter before Gerard's speech. She was speaking with Mikey and looked very pretty.

"What is it?" Ray asked.

"Oh, nothing," Frank said quickly. "Forgot what I was going to say, that's all." He didn't want to discuss young ladies passing Gerard love letters. What had ever happened to that letter, anyway? It had all got a bit... intense after the speech, and Frank had more or less forgotten it until now.

A shadow fell across him, but when he looked up it was only Gerard, beaming because he'd managed to escape from his mother.

Gerard sat down by him and said brightly, "So, I've been talking with the physician—"

"You have?" Frank said, wondering if he should be alarmed. "About what?"

"About you, of course."

"You— Gerard!"

Gerard looked slightly startled but decided to just press on. "He suggested a more humid environment might ease your lungs when they're congested..."

Frank slunk down in his seat. "Do we have to talk about this now?" He knew Ray was laughing at them, even if it was all on the inside.

Gerard frowned slightly. "I was thinking of building a small solarium for you? A sort of little green house, right off our wing of the palace, so you wouldn't have to go outside to get in. That way in the winter you could sit in it when the sun's out without getting cold."

"I—"

"And I was thinking with the right plants and maybe a small fountain, that would keep it humid, wouldn't it? What do you think?"

"I..."

"Do you think you would use it?" Gerard looked innocent and bright-eyed and hopeful, and so Frank said yes.

"Thank you," he added. "That's very generous." 

Gerard shrugged. "I just don't like it when you're sick."

Frank almost pointed out Gerard hadn't even seen him _really_ sick, but then thought better of it. He didn't want to give Gerard _ideas;_ he was paranoid enough as it was.

It occurred to Frank later that a solarium was both a permanent and expensive gift, and he decided to look upon Gerard's meddling in his health as a sign of love and concern, rather than just Gerard's insatiable need to be involved in everything ever.

 

The Spring Season was about to start, and it was ghastly. What seemed like an endless stream of girls arrived to be presented at court— Frank had no idea where they all came from, Illyria just wasn't that big— in the hope that they would be quickly married off. Frank felt quite bad for them. It was little better than a meat market, and perhaps worse, because at least at a butcher's shop it was all over quickly. Court might drag out for years, and every tiny infraction would be remembered forever. It didn't seem at all fair, especially when you considered, as Gerard pointed out, that gentlemen didn't have to go through anything like as bad.

Gerard hated it, too, because he had to just stand there and nod at the blur of terrified faces. He'd come back, throw his shoes at the wall, and then complain until Frank gave him a neck rub (all the repetitive nodding, Gerard said, made it ache).

And they had to give a ball. Two balls, actually, one to open and one to close. Mikey seemed to be looking forward to them, but no one else was.

_Chapter 10_

The ballroom was loud and hot and the ball seemed like it was never going to end. Frank enjoyed listening to music, of course, but all these aristocratic strangers set his teeth on edge and he couldn't relax.

He couldn't stay by Gerard's side tonight. Gerard could not show Frank any special attention; Frank understood that was just the way things were. Mikey was also busy; he had somehow acquired a large group of friends, and he had to talk to all the people Gerard was too shy or anti-social to speak to. Gerard got to hide behind his title, of course, but Frank knew he was still dreading making small talk with the people he _did_ have to speak to, and fending off the ever-present petitioners. Ray was here, but Frank had long since lost him.

For supposedly being the best people the nobility seemed very dull. They were all here to judge each other as the main activity and entire point of the evening. For all the fine food and beautiful people and excellent music, Frank would rather have spent the evening in his apartments, playing with Sweet Pea and chatting with Simon.

He went looking for Mr. Stump, in case he needed anything, but found he was in the midst of being rescued by Mikey from the attentions of one of Mikey's new friends, and left them to it.

Frank had a better view of the dancing floor now, and his eyes automatically sought out Gerard. Gerard moved gracefully enough after years of dancing lessons, and Frank let himself drift off into a fantasy where _he_ was the one dancing with Gerard— not in front of all these people, of course, but back in their rooms. Frank had no idea how to dance, but the waltzing looked easy enough. It might be nice. Maybe he would ask Gerard to teach him.

Gerard and his partner finally turned enough that Frank could see their faces, and he received a jolt like climbing into a bathtub of very cold water. The lady Gerard was dancing with was the lady whose letter Frank had given to Gerard, whom he had last seen at the garden party.

Frank wondered that he had ever found her pretty, and thought her much too tall for Gerard. The spite did nothing to relieve the pain twisting deeper in his gut. He knew the difference between Gerard faking an interest and Gerard actually interested, and this was the latter. They were having an animated conversation, and Gerard was lit up and smiling.

Frank quickly pushed his way out of the watchers thronged around the edges of the dance floor and back behind the colonnade on the back wall of the room. It was mostly servants back here, and dark and shadowy besides. Everyone was looking out to the center of the room, and Frank was as alone in the crowd as he could be.

He spun to face a mirror, to try and get himself under control. The mirror was old and spotty, and his reflection dim, but he took several deep breaths and faced himself. _First,_ he told himself. _First._ He didn't really feel any better but he pretended he did.

He felt flushed with anger, and under that rather nauseous. This waltz seemed to be eternal. Frank wondered if this was what hell would be like; Gerard always out of his reach and well within someone else's.

Chairs had been placed between the columns for the matrons and chaperones. Frank could see the pair in front of him whispering and nodding, and he knew they were talking about Gerard and the lady.

He inched a little closer, driven by a sudden, nearly overwhelming need to discover the lady's identity.

"Well, it's no wonder she tries so hard," one of the older ladies was saying. "She's very nearly too old."

The other one nodded. "Quite, quite." But then she switched back into French, and Frank bit back a frustrated groan. He might be able to read French, more or less, but could not follow it when spoken at all. He listened anyway, picking up a word here or there— "father", a baron's name that meant nothing to him— but not enough to make sense of their conversation.

Frank finally gave up and moved away. He could ask someone. A gentleman, anyway. Frank couldn't bear to ask anyone he knew, because they would all know why he was asking.

He found a very round lord who was determinedly devouring a tray of canapes, held by a long-suffering waiter. Frank wasn't in the least hungry, and possibly not capable of keeping food down, but he took one for the sake of conversation.

The gentleman nodded at him and Frank nodded back. "Lord Montessori," he said, with a polite nod.

"Lord Sudagio," Frank answered, with a similar nod.

Lord Montessori immediately gave him an interested look, and Frank belatedly remembered his reputation. He wondered if he could get away with affecting a strange accent.

"I'm afraid I still don't know very many people at court," Frank said, in an accent of indeterminate origin (not that he'd be able to pull off a specific one).

"We have a small court here," Montessori said. "It is perhaps not what you're used to?" He looked avidly curious, and Frank was almost amused.

"That lady, for example," Frank said, nodding at the dancers. "The one dancing with His Majesty. What is her name?"

Montessori peered through his tiny spectacles. "Ahh, that is Lady Alicia. Very beautiful, isn't she?"

Frank said nothing to that; the waltz was finally, finally ending. He applauded quite enthusiastically. He watched, as if there was nothing else in the room, as Gerard escorted her to the side of the dance floor. He did not bow and leave her, but they stood there talking.

Lord Montessori elbowed Frank in the side. "It will cause quite a scandal if he dances with her again tonight. Let's see what happens, eh?"

Frank knew there were rules about how often gentlemen and ladies could dance together but he didn't know what they were, or if they were different for a king (or if Gerard knew them, for that matter). But the fact that Gerard had already danced the allotted amount with Lady Alicia made Frank feel almost violently ill.

"Milord," the servant said quietly, and Frank realized he was holding out a handkerchief. Frank had crushed the untouched canape in his hand. He took the offered handkerchief and wiped his hand clean.

"Sorry," he muttered, passing it back. "Thank you."

He bowed to Lord Montessori and took off without speaking or waiting for an acknowledgment. He returned to prowl the dark colonnade. Frank's hands were shaking. He held on to the anger, because what was under the anger was much worse.

 _You have no right,_ he told himself, and it came out in Szerlim's voice. _No right to him at all._ Frank's evening clothes felt stiff and scratchy and too hot, and he tugged at his collar.

He could never, ever make a public claim on Gerard because they'd be run out of town or even the country if he did, and the thought of costing Gerard his throne made Frank feel sick. He couldn't live with himself if Gerard was forced to abdicate because of him.

He was pacing back and forth rapidly, not looking where he was going, and nearly knocked over three waiters who didn't get out of his way fast enough. Frank wanted to fight someone. Not a woman, of course, no matter how difficult she might make his life. There were enough drunk gentlemen here, though, that it would be easy to insult one and Frank was getting quite good with his weapons…

"Frank." Frank jumped and turned to find Mikey, his face as blank as it could get, which was very.

"Mikey," Frank nodded. He was too agitated to say anything else.

"You can't make a scene," Mikey said quietly.

"I _wasn't,_ " Frank replied, stung. He wanted to do nothing more than storm across the ballroom and rip Lady Alicia away from Gerard.

"Well, don't."

He stepped closer. "I _wasn't,_ " he repeated.

"Go outside and cool down," Mikey said.

"No." Frank said. Mikey couldn't— well, yes, technically, Archduke Michael could tell him what to do.

"Go outside to the gardens," Mikey said. "Frank."

"Your Highness," Frank said, with a deep bow. He felt miserable as he did it, because he didn't really want to be a shit to Mikey, but he couldn't help himself.

Frank left without another word, and it was running away. He slipped around the edges of the ballroom as quickly as he could. He snatched a champagne glass on his way and drained it, then took another. He had to detour to avoid Ambassador Morrison, because Frank couldn't be anything but rude right now, and he didn't actually want to be rude to the ambassador.

The cool air outside did produce a soothing effect. Frank took a deep breath. The patio immediately outside the ballroom was rather crowded, but the further Frank went from the light and heat and noise, the better he felt. The more rational he felt, anyway. He still didn't feel at all well. He left the second champagne glass on the gravel, at the edge of the light, and he put his hands in his pockets as he wandered the dark garden paths.

He hardly knew this part of the garden, and he walked aimlessly. It may have been an actual labyrinth; Frank certainly felt like it was. He finally stopped in an alcove covered with ivy, and leaned his forehead against the cool stone. 

"Frank?"

He banged his head on the wall as he startled. He thought better of his original answer and called back "Majesty?"

"Where are you?" Gerard sounded in good spirits. Well, thought Frank, why wouldn't he be?

"I don't know," Frank admitted.

Gerard laughed. It sounded otherworldly, between the dark and the echoes. "Well, keep talking," Gerard said. "I'll find you!"

Frank leaned his back against the wall. "Polo!" he shouted.

Gerard laughed again and called "Marco!" They called Marco Polo back and forth until Gerard, still giggling, rounded the corner. "I found you! Where's my prize?"

Frank stayed leaning against the wall and didn't say anything.

Gerard leaned into him, without touching, and bracketed Frank between his arms. "I said," he whispered, so close Frank could feel Gerard's breath on his face, "where's my prize?"

Frank grabbed him, pulled him close, and crushed his mouth against Gerard's. He stole Gerard's breath, he could feel it, and when he bit Gerard's lower lip Gerard made a tiny noise that Frank stole and kept, too.

 _First,_ Frank told himself. _First._ But what he meant was _mine._

His hands were pulling at Gerard's shoulders, and Gerard was running his hands over Frank's chest, caught in Frank's urgency. Frank wanted to send Gerard back to the ball marked up, so everyone knew Gerard belonged to someone, even if they didn't know it was Frank. 

Gerard whimpered into Frank's mouth and rolled his hips. Gerard's collar was too high for Frank to get much of his neck. He growled in annoyance and pulled at Gerard's ear with his teeth instead.

"Frank, Frank, Frank, fuck," Gerard gasped. "Were you having a good time at the party?" There was giggle in Gerard's voice, and Frank realized they were not on the same page at all.

He shoved Gerard back a little, and Gerard moaned in disappointment. "What?" he panted, and touched Frank's face, and Frank almost didn't care about anything else and was ready to pull him back.

"Why did you dance so much with Lady Alicia?" Even as he heard the question, Frank had trouble believing he'd dared ask it.

"Alicia?" Gerard said, and Frank didn't miss that he'd omitted her title. "What does—" but he stopped himself. Gerard was very clever, and he didn't need Frank's help to figure it out. Frank was glad it was dark. 

"You're jealous," Gerard whispered. Frank didn't think there was any call to sound quite so astonished. He tried to kick Gerard's ankle but Gerard managed to be standing out of the way, and then he leaned heavily against Frank, pinning him to the wall. "You're jealous, Frank?"

Frank wanted to bite Gerard, and he wanted to push him away, and he wanted to throw Gerard to the ground and make sure the only name Gerard said was his. Now he regretted the dark, because he couldn't see Gerard's expression. But he could feel Gerard pressing against him, and Gerard forcing his leg between Frank's, to rub his thigh against the bulge in Frank's trousers.

"Tell me, Frank," Gerard whispered.

"Of course I am!" he snapped. He tried to pull his head away, like his hips weren't rocking against Gerard's leg.

"Of Alicia." Gerard sounded amused, and Frank wanted to punch him. Was it still treason if he deserved it?

"Oh, Frankie," Gerard whispered, and his tone was more sympathetic than teasing. "Don't you remember I told you she liked Mikey better?"

"You never told me her name." Frank was having difficulty speaking.

Gerard stilled for a moment. "Oh," he said quietly, almost meekly. Gerard's long fingers soothed over Frank's side. "Well, I think she should marry Mikey. So does Alicia. So does Mikey."

"What?" Frank was not following this at all.

"Alicia's father very badly wants her to be queen. But we're pretty sure he'll be happy with archduchess, once we make it clear that's what's going to happen."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Gerard whispered, brushing his mouth over Frank's.

Frank felt... crazy, actually. He fisted both hands in Gerard's hair and kissed him, hard and frantic and possessive, because Gerard belonged to him, and apparently Gerard did actually know that.

Gerard made a wanton, needy noise, and if anyone else ever heard that, Frank would tear them apart.

Gerard sucked and bit at Frank's neck, making Frank cry out and his knees buckle. Gerard was going to leave a mark, and it would be high, where everyone could see. At the same time, his fingers were tracing over Frank's erection, light and even delicate, in sharp contrast to his mouth on Frank's neck.

Frank whined and tried to buck his hips into Gerard's hand, but Gerard just took his hand away, because he was a terrible person. "Gerard," he complained.

"Shh, sweetheart," Gerard cooed, kissing Frank's cheek, his mouth, his other cheek, like he hadn't just left a great dirty bruise on Frank's neck where everyone would see it.

Frank pushed him, hard, catching him by surprise. He was able to spin them, stumbling, and forced Gerard back against the wall, crash landing on him a little. "You stay there," Frank said. He dropped to his knees, wet spots forming instantly on his knees from the dirt.

Gerard's hand was in his hair immediately, and Frank worked blindly to get Gerard's trousers open. The tip of Gerard's cock was already wet, and Frank took some time to spread the moisture around in slow, smooth motions. 

Gerard was panting harshly above him, but his fingers in Frank's hair were soft. "You can have anything you want," Gerard whispered. "Frankie. You can have anything—"

Frank licked Gerard's cock from base to tip, following the large vein underneath. Gerard made a highly interesting choking noise. Frank swirled his tongue around the tip, then kissed the shaft at random.

"Oh fuck, Frank. Please, please..."

Frank kept his hand moving but leaned his head back. "Please what?"

"Your _mouth,_ Frankie, I need your fucking mouth."

Frank took just the tip in and sucked, hard. Gerard's hips jerked toward him and Frank used his free arm to pin him down. He took Gerard's cock into his mouth a little at a time. He couldn't see Gerard coming apart, but he could hear, smell, taste, and feel him doing it.

"Fuck, Frank, you— _yes,_ like that— anyone could come by, anyone could walk in and see you on your knees in front of me, with my cock in your mouth. You fucking like that, don't you?"

And there was some small part of Frank that did, that hoped someone found them.

"You're so good at this now, Frankie. Have I told you? So fucking good..."

Gerard was close, Frank knew by his breaking voice and the twitches under his hands and tongue. Frank pulled back until just the tip was in his mouth again, his hand sliding easy and fast from Gerard's stomach to his own lips. He sucked, hard, and flicked his tongue across the slit in the top.

Gerard cried out, Frank's name, not muffled at all. Frank couldn't catch all of the come in his mouth and some ended up on his face and probably his shirt and who knew where else. Frank kept pumping Gerard's cock until all the twitches subsided. He wiped his face on Gerard's shirttails, because he could.

To keep from touching himself— because he would probably just come if he did— Frank tucked Gerard away and did up his trousers.

"Okay," Gerard said, still breathing hard, "this is what's going to happen. I'm going to sit on the bench—"

"There's a _bench?_ "

"—If you'd spent five seconds looking around, you would have found it," Gerard said, awfully snotty for a man who'd just come that hard. _Royalty._ "So I'm going to sit on the bench," he continued, "and you're going to stand there without falling down and fuck my mouth. Understood?"

"Not falling down might be difficult." Frank winced as he got to his knees.

"I know." Frank could hear the smile in Gerard's voice. "That's why I mentioned it. Think of it as a special challenge."

"Shut up and get on the bench," Frank said.

Gerard, rather surprisingly, did. There was a little stone bench, and it was actually something of a miracle Frank hadn't rammed his knee into it.

He let Gerard position him where he wanted. Gerard was clumsy getting Frank's trousers open, which told Frank how badly Gerard wanted this. Frank was not going to last long at _all._

So it was good, then, that Gerard just swallowed Frank down, no teasing, just tight, wet heat. Frank almost couldn't breathe, it was so good. His hands landed on Gerard's head and his hips were already twitching, little thrusts out of his control.

Frank tried to hold out, he really did, because he wanted to do this for the rest of his life, but it was really much too good to last. It did feel like forever when he came; Frank didn't even notice when Gerard took his mouth off Frank's cock. Gerard kissed the tip and tucked him back in, as Frank had done for Gerard. Then Gerard rubbed his face on Frank's stomach, blatantly wiping his face off on Frank's new best suit.

"At least I just did it on your shirt," Frank said.

Gerard laughed and guided Frank down to the bench. Frank definitely needed the help as he straddled the bench; he couldn't trust his legs at all. He leaned into Gerard's side and Gerard wrapped an arm around him.

Even in the dark, they had no trouble finding each other's mouths. Frank could taste himself on Gerard's tongue, and knew Gerard must be tasting himself on Frank's, because Frank could still taste him. Their flavors mingled as they kissed loose and easy, mouths tender and stretched.

Gerard cupped a hand around Frank's jaw and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to Frank's lips. "I'm going to go back into the ball," Gerard whispered, pressing a kiss to the point of Frank's chin, "and say goodnight." His mouth moved over Frank's jaw. "And by the time I get back to our room," he nipped at the tender underside of Frank's jaw, "you're going to be in bed, waiting for me."

Frank tipped his head all the way back, baring his whole neck for Gerard. "Yes, sire." 

 

Frank didn't want to go back inside, covered in mud and grass and other things as he was, so he ran through the gardens, light and giddy. He climbed over the wall to the king's private garden and found one of the bedroom windows had been left open, so he went in that way.

He went straight into the dressing room and pulled off his coat and waistcoat and shirt. Maybe he'd fuck Gerard tonight. He was in the mood for that. Frank suddenly recalled that their supply of bedside oil might be low and ran out to check before he got totally undressed. 

He turned up his bedside lamp and rooted through the drawer, weighing the bottle in his hand. Probably enough left. He set it down and left the lamp on, since it was the first light he'd turned on. He turned around, intending to head back to the dressing room, when something hit him as wrong. He froze on reflex, not sure why, and squinted at the corner of the room.

The shadow was wrong.

Frank frowned, wondering if Simon had left something in that corner or moved something that wasn't normally there, and what it might be, when his eyes picked out an unaccustomed glitter in the corner. The lamp light was reflecting off something, and that something was moving.

Some inner sense, or divine providence, made Frank duck, and so when the gun went off the bullet missed him, exploding into the wall instead.

Frank dropped to his stomach and went for the nearest cover, like James had told him, rolling under the bed. 

He fisted his hands in the carpet, thoughts flashing through his mind like lightning, but just as difficult to catch.

Someone was shooting at him. Someone was in his _room_ with a _gun_ shooting at him. For Gerard. He _must_ be after Gerard.

Someone would come soon, wouldn't they? Someone must have heard that…

The ball. The ball was very loud, and everyone was down in the other wing.

Frank's gun was in the bedside table, but there was no way he could reach it.

What was the man— the assassin— doing? Reloading, probably. And he knew where Frank was. 

Frank started inching backward, trying not to make a sound. He might be able to crawl out the other side and get out the window. He hadn't locked it when he'd come in, had he? Had he? The scramble to get from his stomach to his feet would be difficult enough. 

Frank was going to get shot. He was going to die and he didn't have a shirt on and he could still taste Gerard in his mouth and Gerard was going to walk in and get shot, too.

He could hear little metallic clicks, hard breathing, and even without getting any kind of look at the gun, his mind's eye was supplying a picture of what was going on. All the assassin had to do when he finished was bend down and fire. 

Frank had seconds. 

He looked around, hoping something would occur to him. There was nothing under the bed but him and it was so dark he couldn't see anything anyway...

But there was a darker little blob, against the wall, at the base of the headboard.

Frank shuffled over until his hand brushed it, and for a moment he had no idea what it was. He wrapped his fingers around it, and realized it was his dagger. The one from Sudagio, that he kept under his pillow.

He pulled it close, amazed. It must have fallen between the headboard and the mattress when the maids were making the bed— or, more likely, during some energetic tumble— and because Frank had the gun in his drawer, he hadn't missed it.

Now the assassin was walking; Frank could see his boots clearly. The man stopped, next to the bed where Frank had dived underneath it, but hesitated.

Frank crawled over slightly to the right of where the man was standing, and slid the dagger out of the sheath. He was trying so, so hard to be silent, but the blood pounding in his ears was so loud he didn't know if he was successful or not.

They both waited. Maybe the man somehow knew Frank had a weapon, or maybe he felt bending down to look under the bed would put him in a vulnerable position.

Frank tried to remember to breathe. Finally the man's legs moved, and Frank could see he was kneeling down.

Frank lashed out, coming from behind, and jammed the dagger into the back of the man's ankle.

The closest word Frank could find to describe the noise the assassin made was a howl. He reached back and pulled the dagger out, but then collapsed back.

Frank was already pushing himself back, and he was out from under the bed. Mostly. He clocked his head hard against the bed frame when he lifted it but that didn't stop him. 

The gun went off again as Frank pushed to his feet, but he wasn't hit. And now the man would have to reload again. 

Frank grabbed the bell pull and jerked as hard and fast as he could.

He ran for the nearest cover, which was the dressing room. He was breathing hard, and his head felt like it was bleeding, sharp cold pain where he'd hit it, but Frank's hand was clean and dry when he touched the spot.

Someone _would_ be coming now; he just hoped it wasn't some little maid. Or even Simon. He needed guards, not someone who might get shot.

Frank fumbled around in the dark as much as he dared. When they'd been getting Gerard dressed in here earlier, they'd pushed the tub back against the wall, blocking the secret door. And yes, it was still there, of course. Of all the times to block their fucking secret door. Frank didn't think he could move the tub on his own— it had taken Simon and three footmen to move it this morning. 

The assassin was cursing, but quietly enough that Frank couldn't make out the language. He _did_ sound like he was reloading, however.

He also hadn't got up, even though he must know Frank was unarmed now... except of course Frank had actually left his sword in here. Not very good against the gun, perhaps, but Frank hurried to lay hold of it. The dagger had worked, after all.

Frank had taken a chance, stabbing at the boot. It might have been very thick and the dagger might have glanced off it, but it seemed like the assassin had dressed to blend in at the ball, or at least in some attendee's livery.

Frank heard the click of the gun being cocked, and raised his sword. It made him feel better at least.

There was another shot, and Frank flinched, but again the bullet was no where near him.

The salon door was opened now, and there was a shout. The guards. It _was_ the guards.

"There's a man with a gun in here," Frank shouted.

No response from the assassin, but the guards called out to him, asking if he was all right.

Frank shouted that he was. The guards kicked down the door, and Frank cautiously stuck his head around the door.

"He's dead," one of the guards said. "Shot his own head off."

Frank didn't let go of his sword but he came out from the dressing room. More guards were showing up, some soldiers from the army, and footmen and other people running in and out. Frank stared down at the body.

The man looked just like any other man, really. His clothes were nice and not flashy. Designed to blend in. There wasn't much left of his face, and Frank realized in a resigned way that was on purpose.

Frank suddenly became aware of how cold he was, and then Simon was there, a strong arm around his shoulder, pulling him away. "Come on, sir," Simon said softly.

He took Frank back to the dressing room and tried to pry the sword away from him, but Frank wouldn't let go. "All right then," Simon said gently. "You keep that for now." He wrapped Frank in his dressing gown and a large, heavy wrap. "Let's go sit you in the salon. His Majesty will be here soon, and then all hell will break loose."

"You're not wrong," Frank tried to say, but it wouldn't come out right. He was so cold he couldn't stop shaking.

In the salon, Frank saw Sweet Pea, curled on her bed and not moving, despite all the activity in the room. He cried out and dropped to his knees next to her. Had he killed her? Had that bastard killed Frank's dog?

"I think she's just drugged," Simon said softly, over Frank's shoulder. "Look there, she's breathing."

Frank laid a hand over her side, so light he was only just touching her, and now he could feel her flank rising and falling under his hand.

He was so relieved he felt tears crowding at his eyes. He tried not to cry, but he couldn't quite help it, and he just wiped them away as quickly as he could.

Simon sat him in a chair right next to the fire, and right by Sweet Pea. Frank finally let go of the sword, but left it leaning against his leg. 

Gerard showed up then, trailed by even more people, and there was a lot of shouting. A _lot_ of shouting. Frank didn't really notice; he felt like he wasn't really here, like this was a dream. Gerard had a hand on Frank's shoulder, tight enough to bruise, but Frank didn't feel any pain from it. There were too many people for Gerard to do what he wanted, clearly. Gerard was an odd combination of pale and red, and he was still breathing hard, and Frank realized he must have run from the other side of the palace.

Mikey came in, too, and Ray. Ray went with Gerard into the bedroom, but Mikey sat on the arm of Frank's chair and leaned against him without speaking.

Gerard came out looking ill, and went to talk to a bunch of police types that showed up. James came over to Frank and leaned down to talk in his ear.

"You cut his Achilles tendon. Very nice aim, there. When he realized he couldn't get away, he killed himself so he couldn't be questioned. Quite professional."

Frank wasn't sure he wanted to know all that. James patted his shoulder. "You did exceptionally well there, Milord."

Frank didn't feel like he'd done well. Mostly, he wanted to throw up. He turned and hid his face in Mikey's side, hoping he didn't cry in front of all these people.

Gerard and Ray came back. Gerard looked as pale as Frank had ever seen him, and his eyes looked huge and black. He brushed Frank's cheek gently, his fingertips slightly shaking.

"We're going to find you another room to sleep in," Ray said quietly.

"The old room?" Gerard asked.

Ray shook his head emphatically, which was always something Frank liked to watch. "Nowhere you've slept before, or any place likely for the king to sleep. And we'll be moving you around for a while."

"That's fine," Gerard said quietly. He stroked Frank's arm, so lightly Frank almost couldn't feel it through his layers.

"Let's go," Ray said, trying to look encouraging.

Gerard and Mikey helped Frank stand. The sword fell, and Frank decided bending over to pick it up would be too much effort. "Sweet Pea," he said, insistently.

"I'll get her myself," Gerard promised. He stroked Frank's arm again and then went over to get the puppy, bed and all. Since his arms were full, Ray and Mikey walked bracketing Frank. Frank barely noticed.

Mr. Stump escorted them along several long hallways and a flight of stairs. James and several other guards came with them.

"Sire," James said quietly, "you might want to consider permanently moving upstairs. I've always said—"

"Not now, Captain," Gerard said, and everyone was silent.

The room Mr. Stump took them to was a guest room for someone unimportant, perhaps someone in a visiting official's retinue. It was green and white and rather plain, but Frank found something about it comforting. Perhaps it reminded him of the kind of rooms he'd grown up in, at least more than anything else in the palace ever had.

Frank sat on the bed, exhausted. Gerard put the puppy's bed in front of the fire, which had been lit, and crouched down, poking at her anxiously. He finally got a whine out of her and stood up, satisfied.

James and his men were busy checking the room, opening all the doors and— and Frank almost giggled, but held it in, knowing it would be hysterics— looking under the bed.

Mr. Stump was excused and the other guards went out as well. James put Frank's pistol on one of the night stands, and Frank was almost overwhelmed with gratitude. "I'm going to be outside all night, myself," James said.

"You should go home and get some sleep," Gerard said.

"You and your odd notions about people sleeping, sire," James said. He obviously blamed himself. Frank wasn't sure if that was fair or not.

"Fine," Gerard waved his hand. "As you please. Just don't fall asleep." Gerard's tone was also light and pleasant, but it didn't hide the threat.

"No sire," James said, all seriousness now. "There will be shifts of other guards."

"I just— fine. That's fine, Captain," Gerard said. He sighed, and James went out and shut the door behind him.

Mikey and Ray were still in the room. "I think you'll be safe here," Ray said, but he was anxious, practically wringing his hands as he looked around. "I can't believe this happened. Frank—"

Frank looked up, and Ray came over and hugged him, tightly. "I'm so glad you're all right."

Frank was startled enough he was shaken out of his lethargy and patted Ray on the back. "I'm fine."

"Okay, good. I—" Ray hugged Frank again, just as tightly. Then he stood up and said "Get some rest, Frank." He bid Gerard good night as well, and slipped out. Frank was a little stunned. He knew Ray liked him, but he was never sure how much Ray really approved of him. He was surprised, but very pleased.

Mikey came over and sat next to Frank and gave him a long hug, too. Frank looked up at Gerard, who was watching them, but possibly seeing something else, too. He didn't look all there, and was twitchy even for him.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Mr. Simon, sire," James said.

"Let him in," Gerard said.

Mikey kissed the side of Frank's head. "Take care of yourself," he whispered, and got up to whisper by the door with Gerard.

Simon had brought their nightshirts, which Frank eagerly climbed into; toothbrushes; and cups of something Frank only knew was warm and very alcoholic. He drank his nightcap and brushed his teeth. 

He stumbled to the bed and climbed in after that, not bothering to look around the room. He adjusted the position of the pistol on the night stand a little. 

He heard the door close and the soft sounds of Gerard undressing. The lights dimmed until they went out, but the fire still gave off plenty of light. When Gerard crawled into bed Frank turned over to face him, unsurprised when Gerard pulled him close. Frank hoped Gerard's fingers left bruises.

"You're mine," Gerard said into Frank's neck. "No one can take you from me." Frank could have said the same, would have, except he could not force the words out past the lump in his throat.

Gerard rolled them over and Frank felt like he was in a box, a Gerard-box. He approved of this. "I'll _kill_ them," Gerard growled. "No one hurts you; you're _mine._ " Gerard's mouth was hard and demanding, like his hands, and it was what Frank needed. He held on as tightly as his hands would allow; rutting against each other so frantic and hard and hot it felt like they were burning. Gerard's hands were biting into his sides, leaving bruises like Frank liked. Gerard was all over him, hands and mouth everywhere, and Frank couldn't do much more than take it and try to match the movement of Gerard's hips.

When he came it took him by surprise, and it felt like it took a long time for him to start breathing again. Gerard's hair and face were damp where they pressed against Frank's face, and Frank wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears or both.

What followed was a mess of tears, flailing, and whispered words of the sort Frank would normally withstand torture to deny uttering.

They were pressed so close Frank almost didn't have enough room to breathe, and their legs were tangled together. It wasn't strictly comfortable, but that didn't matter. Gerard made him all sorts of mad promises— changing laws and throwing the church out and making Frank a prince alongside him— that Frank didn't even really listen to because they _were_ mad and they both knew Gerard could never keep them. That didn't matter either; Frank listened to Gerard's voice, not his words, and that had a different promise he _could_ keep Gerard to.

Frank had his own mad promises to make, anyway: he wanted to carve Gerard's name into his skin so it would be there always; things about beheading a dragon and conquering Vienna to return to sit at Gerard's feet.

"There is no room in my heart for anyone but you," Gerard said, face pressed against Frank's chest, directing to the words straight to his heart. In spite of his best intentions, Frank couldn't help but grab onto that one.

Frank was too tired not to sleep, though he didn't sleep well. Gerard probably didn't sleep at all. Whenever Frank woke again Gerard was also awake, and sometimes they'd resume their conversation, or at least Gerard would continue his litany. Frank wasn't sure he actually stopped.

Eventually Frank woke up and it was sunny, and Gerard was finally asleep. This room was on the other side of the palace, so the light was different, brighter. Frank watched him sleep for a while, studying the way the new light rested on the planes and angles of his face. He'd heard Gerard talk about such things enough to be able to appreciate them.

Frank was only distracted when he heard Sweet Pea stir and yip quietly. He sat up to watch her. She got up and stumbled out of her bed, careening around unsteadily. Frank hauled himself out of bed to pick up her. She seemed confused but licked his face, and he brought her to the bed. He tried to keep her from disturbing Gerard, but she was determined to lick his nose.

Gerard awoke with a start and Frank had to bite his lip to stop the giggles. Gerard looked confused and startled and rumpled. When he relaxed, Frank smoothed his hair back and they just looked at each other for a while; perhaps they'd temporarily talked themselves out.

Gerard eventually sat up and rang the bell. They petted the groggy puppy and answered through the door when the maid came. They ate breakfast in bed and then got up, even though Gerard still looked exhausted. 

James walked them back downstairs, not to the King's Chambers but to their old rooms. Simon was waiting for them there, and they dressed. James finally agreed to get some rest as soon as he'd spoken to Frank about last night, for the record.

They sat in the salon, while Gerard hovered suspiciously nearby, pretending to do something else. Frank made it sound like he'd just been in the gardens when he decided to go to bed, so he'd gone that way instead of going back inside, which was almost the truth, anyway. He described what had happened in as much detail as he could— he only omitted why he'd gone to the night stand, saying only that he'd wanted to turn on the lamp.

James questioned him most closely about what language the assassin might have been using. "Could it have been German?"

"Yes," Frank shrugged. "But it could have been Serbian, or Russian. I don't think it was Slovene and it definitely wasn't Italian. Or French, I think. Not the right—" he searched trying to recall what sounds the man had made. "Cadence, you know?"

"Yes," Gerard said, while James nodded. Frank and James both turned to look at him, and he flushed slightly. "The speech patterns are different, that's all." He went back to pretending he wasn't avidly listening.

"Who feeds the dog?" James asked.

"Simon, usually."

James looked quite serious, and when Frank caught on he couldn't help leaping to Simon's defense. "But she'd eat anything you threw at her. Gerard feeds her from the table all the time, and she assumes anything on the floor is food."

He ignored the offended noise Gerard made. James nodded carefully and made a note in his book. "We still have to assume there might have been some inside help on this, Milord. The drugging of the dog is worrying."

"It wasn't Simon," Gerard said quietly, but with certainty. "If it had been, the gunman would have been expecting Frank, and he would have come with two pistols."

James's pencil was hovering over his book, and he looked at Gerard with interest. "So he wouldn't have to reload. Very good, sire."

Frank exhaled slowly. "I didn't take him by surprise just because I came back early, and through the window," he said. "He wasn't expecting me at all, or else he would have come prepared for two people, right?" He couldn't bring himself to say what the assassin would have been prepared to do to them. "Two pistols, so he wouldn't have to reload. So if there was inside help, it wasn't anyone..." he searched again for the right words, "...we know." That was a relief, at least. No one they actively called a friend was trying to kill them.

 

Gerard still had work he had to do. They were trying to keep word of the assassination attempt quiet, but Count Szerlim, who showed up before lunch, suggested Gerard publicly show himself.

"No way," Frank said flatly.

"Mightn't there be more out there?" Ray asked anxiously.

"Someone sent an assassin," Szerlim said, unperturbed. "Whoever did that needs to know they failed. And it will stop any rumors that might be going around."

"I could go to the theatre," Gerard said, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Szerlim frowned. He was obviously not the sort of man who approved of the theatre, but Gerard's period of mourning was technically up. 

"What else should I do?" Gerard said. "Go for a stroll in the park?"

This was apparently too bourgeois for Szerlim to even listen to; he agreed Gerard might go to the theatre tonight. "Send word you're going," Szerlim said. "The whole city should be talking about it."

 

Frank and Gerard took a nap on the sofa in Gerard's study after lunch. By the time they ate an early dinner, Frank was regretting the theatre tonight; he wanted very much to sleep for at least twelve hours.

Gerard seemed excited, though, so they got dressed and collected Mikey and Ray. It was nice to get out of the palace, and the theatre was lit up and looked impressive, much more so than the theatres in Port Angelo.

Their box was all set up and ready and guarded, and the curtain had already risen, because everyone came late and the king came latest of all. Frank and Ray sat in the chairs behind Gerard and Mikey, which was fine with Frank, who didn't want to be stared at all night through opera glasses. 

The play was in Italian but Frank had difficulty following it. His head was heavy but at the same time he felt jumpy and exposed, even tucked in the dark box.

He did have to acknowledge they were probably safer out in the public eye like this; a hundred people were avidly watching every move made in their box. Frank was still relieved when the actors took their final bows, and they could leave the theatre. 

The room they slept in that night was yellow. "What color would you like tomorrow night?" Gerard asked him, when they were lying in bed. It was very dark. "I'm sure Mr. Stump will take requests."

"Ha ha," Frank said. "How long do they want us to do this for?"

Gerard was silent for a moment, and Frank imagined Gerard's thought-gathering face. "How soon do you want to go back?" he asked gently. "Do you think you could sleep in there?"

Even though Gerard probably couldn't see Frank's face, Frank still turned his face into the cool pillow for a moment. "I guess I might not be able to," he acknowledged. "But it seems a shame to never use that room again."

"It does," Gerard said, still very kind. He put his hand on Frank's face, a bit clumsy in the dark. "My musketeer."

"Shut up," Frank said, and had to try hard not to sound as pleased as he really was. He really quite fancied the idea of being Gerard's musketeer.

"You saved my life," Gerard said, his fingers stroking Frank's cheek in a soothing way. "I'm going to take advantage of that."

"What does that mean?"

Frank could hear the smile in Gerard's voice when he answered "You'll see."

_Chapter 11_

James was doing... something in their apartments and the garden to increase security, and in the meantime, it was a different bedroom every night, a rainbow of colors. Rooms were often changed at the last moment, to their annoyance as well as Simon's. Frank had got right out of the habit of getting into a cold bed at night, and he and Gerard tussled over who got to put their feet on whom. 

Neither of them were sleeping particularly well, and there was only so much afternoon naps could make up for. This inevitably led to them both being short-tempered, and during another interminable family tea, Gerard snapped at his mother.

Frank was on the other side of the room, as usual, and he was unaware of what Gerard and the Queen Mother had been talking about, other than that Gerard was looking twitchy and cross.

"The question is already settled," Gerard said, too loud to be strictly polite, and he got to his feet. "As of now, Mikey and Lady Alicia may consider themselves engaged."

"Thanks?" Mikey said.

"That seems to be the most beneficial course of action," the Queen Mother said, as if it had been her suggestion. 

Gerard ran a hand through his hair and seemed to relax a little. "Fine, then. So now that everything's settled, perhaps—"

The Queen Mother was the only person Frank had seen, besides himself, interrupt Gerard since he'd become king. "Everything is not settled," she said. "How can everything appear settled to you? The people will not consider things settled until the succession is secure."

Frank should not be here for this. He didn't _want_ to be here for this.

Gerard was taking several deep breaths and was trying to keep his hands from clenching into fists.

"As I have said before," he said, with artificial calm, "Mikey's son can inherit."

_Before?_

The Queen Mother's temper was a match for her son's. "As I recall, you once said you might consider getting married—"

"Oh," Gerard snapped. "So that conversation did happen now, did it? I thought we were pretending that whole exile _thing_ never took place."

Whenever Gerard had spoken of the exile itself, which was rarely enough, he'd passed it off as a joke, or said he preferred to be far from court life. But it must have been awful to have been turned away by your family, and worse that they didn't seem to miss you. Gerard was still trying to hide his hurt, but Frank could see it clearly, and from their faces, so could everyone else.

"Your grandmother was always far too lenient and tolerate of you," the Queen Mother said, icy composure back in place. "Your father and I had hoped that exile would bring you to your senses. I don't think you are properly cognizant of the sort of danger you're putting yourself and your family in. You are turning what should have been a youthful indiscretion into a serious encumbrance. You have a duty to this dynasty, Gerard. What if Michael doesn't produce an heir? Or only a girl?"

Mikey slumped down in his seat. Frank, who was hoping a gaping hole would open suddenly in the floor beneath him, was sympathetic.

"We have a long time to deal with that problem, should it arise," Gerard said. He also looked quite embarrassed. "And as for a girl, why not? In England women rule alone."

"And it is well known that all Englishmen are mad. What about the damage to your reputation and the reputation of this house? Your actions are not yours alone; they reflect upon the nation."

"I know that," Gerard said. "My public actions do. But I'm entitled to a private life. And that has no bearing on the nation."

"When people find out—"

" _If_ they find out—"

It got worse from there. Gerard's mother brought up religion, about which Gerard had very modern ideas, and a whole other quarrel erupted around that. 

What Frank heard was that Gerard was an all-around scandal and disappointment, who couldn't rule properly unless he did the exact same thing all the other kings of Illyria had done.

Frank was over his embarrassment and was furious. But he knew his place, and jumping to Gerard's defense would only embarrass him and infuriate the Queen Mother further. He was still tempted. So, so tempted.

"You're meant to be an example, a leader, and you should be humble before God and Church. Instead you openly flaunt this, this—" she gestured to Frank, referring to him directly for the first time. 

Gerard stepped in front of her, blocking Frank from her view. "What?" Gerard's voice was low and silky and dangerous. Frank couldn't see either of their faces. He wasn't sure he'd be brave enough to look, anyway. "What is it you wanted to say, Mother?" Gerard prodded, after a few tense moments of silence.

"That's enough," Mikey said. "Both of you. You're not going to change each other's minds. This isn't doing any one of us any good, and you're about to say things you'll really regret."

Mikey speaking so forcefully was, by its very rarity, like a bucket of cold water.

Gerard inclined his head toward Mikey. "You're right. And Mother," he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and lifted his chin. "Mother, I think that once you've seen Mikey married and settled, it would be best if you retired to the country. No doubt you are tired of court life."

She looked at him a long time, then bowed her head. "Your Majesty."

Gerard crossed the room so quickly he stumbled over a footstool. He stopped only long enough to grab Frank by the wrist and pull him out of his chair. "Good afternoon, everyone," he said, and pulled Frank out of the room.

 

Gerard was shaking, and Frank let him lead them until he realized Gerard was walking blindly, or at least at random. "Let's go outside," he suggested.

In the fresh air, Gerard began to regain his self-control. Frank let Gerard lead them, around the reflecting pool and down a long walk lined with tall, willowy trees. Frank eventually pried Gerard's fingers off his wrist and laced their fingers together instead.

"Are you all right?" Gerard asked abruptly.

"Am I— Gerard, are _you_ all right?"

"Am I? I don't know. Are we?"

Frank stopped walking, forcing Gerard to stop as well, and turned to face Gerard. "I am perfectly all right," he said. He squeezed Gerard's hand, and Gerard reluctantly swung his body to face Frank. Frank put his free hand around the back of Gerard's neck. He tugged, lightly, until Gerard met his eyes. Then he smiled.

"I have no complaints," he said, hoping he was radiating reassurance.

Gerard leaned forward until their foreheads rested against each other. Frank didn't look away, and it kept Gerard's attention on him. He watched as the anger gradually faded from Gerard's eyes.

"Should I be ashamed?" Gerard asked, his fingers resting so lightly on the sides of Frank's waist he almost didn't notice.

"Of me?" Frank quirked his mouth to show he didn't mean it.

Gerard sighed anyway. "Of course not you. Of myself. Did I make a right royal ass of myself?"

"I'm afraid you probably did." Frank brought his other arm up, so both arms were wrapped around Gerard's neck. "I absolve you." He rubbed his nose against Gerard's, and Gerard finally smiled, and kissed Frank.

After a while, Frank couldn't help asking "Before? Your mother said, well, implied, that you said you'd consider getting married under certain conditions..?"

Gerard made a face and began to rumple his hair. "It'd have to be... well, she'd— the girl, I mean— she'd really have to understand what she was getting into, and even then it's not really fair, is it? Even if I got married, I'd still have _you,_ but she'd have no one. Men can do whatever they want, but women can't, and it's not at all fair, but I can't just alter public opinion overnight. And because I'm king, I can't just ignore it, either. I would if I could, you know."

"I know," Frank said.

"I don't just want to marry some girl and make her miserable for the rest of her life."

"You wouldn't," Frank squeezed Gerard's hand. 

"How could I help it? And if I disclose everything before— and I would— and if she thinks she'd be happy enough just being queen— well, I'm not sure that's the kind of lady I'd want to marry." Gerard shrugged and looked helpless and trapped.

Frank pulled him close and embraced him, because he couldn't think of anything else to do. "I don't know what the right thing to do is," he said, "but I don't think you're doing the wrong thing, if that helps?"

Gerard squeezed him tight. "It does. Thanks."

 

Gerard had done his best to actually teach Frank to dance; at least the waltz. Frank wasn't very good but he now had some idea of what he should be doing. Gerard had also promised to actually have Frank introduced to people, since he admitted, properly shamefaced, that he had deliberately avoided that. Frank felt a little better about his own jealousy, even as he was working on putting it aside.

The last ball of the spring season felt far more relaxed than the opening ball had been. And it wasn't just Frank, although he certainly felt happier and better equipped to survive it.

Lady Alicia and Mikey's engagement had been published in the papers— Gerard had made sure— and all eyes were on her. Frank felt terrible about the things he'd thought about her before, although he stood by his opinion that she looked prettier standing next to Mikey; then, she was glowing. 

Frank even danced once. He got himself introduced to a girl who'd been sitting by the wall the whole time, looking like she was having even less fun than Frank. He stepped on her train a couple times and she didn't speak one word to him, but he heard later she'd got engaged that night, and Frank liked to think he'd had something to do with that. 

Gerard danced with many more girls, never the same one twice. All Frank felt was affectionate amusement, and when Gerard caught him looking, he'd wink or roll his eyes.

There was no escaping to the gardens this time; an entire battalion had been brought in to provide extra security. Soldiers were stationed all through the gardens, in a cordon around the palace, and every few feet in the hallways.

Gerard left the ball at midnight; Frank slipped out a few minutes before. The extra soldiers made him wary enough that he actually used the secret door for the first time for reasons other than messing about or a clean bed.

Gerard kissed him thoroughly when they met in the bedroom before asking "Do you think you can sleep in here tonight?"

Frank nodded. Gerard raised his eyebrows. "Really and truly?"

"Really and truly." There were soldiers everywhere; if he couldn't do it now, when could he?

In fact, Frank woke up with a nightmare about two hours after he went to sleep. Gerard woke up, too. "We can move to another room," he said. "I understand they're all at my disposal."

"No, I—" Frank took a deep, unsteady breath. "I mean, really, this bed saved my life. I should be able to sleep in it."

"Hmm," Gerard said. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

Frank looked around the dark room. He was wide awake, and didn't really want to try sleeping again.

"Do you want to move?" Gerard asked.

The night was cold, and despite being awake, Frank was comfortable enough that he didn't much fancy the idea of traipsing around the halls to get into a cold bed in a cold room somewhere.

"Or," Gerard said, "we could just do this all night." He rolled on top of Frank and kissed him. 

They decided to just do that all night.

 

There was still no lead on who had sent the assassin, and perhaps it was that unknown quantity hanging over them that made it difficult for Frank to feel at home in their apartments again.

"There was no clue about him as to his identity," James said, again. "And there have been no letters claiming responsibility or even credible threats." He shrugged. "I'm very sorry, Your Majesty, but I don't know what else to do."

"Are there not-credible threats?" Gerard asked.

"They are not credible," James said, "and you're not going to hear about them. Sire."

Frank faked a cough.

"Who have you been asking?" Gerard demanded. "What about the ordinary citizens? They might have heard something, even in passing, or by accident."

"And we've been trying to talk to them, sire," James said patiently. "But none of them know anything."

"Well," said Frank, surprising himself, "are you talking to them as _soldiers?_ "

"Of course, Milord."

"It's just that some people may not be forthcoming with you, as you're in uniform and all."

James looked suspicious. "Like who?"

"Like, you know, people likely to be involved in an assassination plot?"

"What are you suggesting we do then, Milord?"

"Try ordinary clothes, or something," Frank said.

James, at least, appeared to be considering it seriously. "I'm not sure we wouldn't give ourselves away," he said honestly.

An idea was rolling around in Frank's head; he hurried to grab hold of it. "I could ask them. For you, I mean. I'm not nobility—"

"Yes you are, now," Gerard interrupted.

Frank talked over him. "Yeah, all right, but I don't sound like nobility and if I wore normal clothes I wouldn't look at all like nobility, either."

Gerard looked like he was stockpiling objections, so Frank hurried to continue. "I could go incognito. To... cafes? That's what one does, isn't it? In the city? Go to cafes and engage in political discussions. Well, at the very least I could eavesdrop on them."

"You could even _spread_ ideas that way," Ray said, sounding impressed.

Frank beamed at him. Gerard would have objections, but Frank was going to beat them.

 

Frank had been living in Aquileia for months but he'd seen very little of the city, and what he had seen had been through carriage or train windows. The upside of that for his little spying mission was that he was unknown; the downside was that Frank not only didn't know the proper cafes, he didn't even know how to find his way on the streets. He was all for just going out and trying it, but in the end Gerard decided Ray would go with him. Frank had no objection to that, so one evening after an early supper, Frank and Ray dressed in their plainest clothes and left the palace.

They hit all the cafes on Centralne Mesto; they would do the university area another night. Over coffee, tea, chocolate, and pastries, they told anyone who would listen (which was most people) about the attempt on the king's life. They blurred and fudged details until the story pointed at Habsburg jealousy. They were half-waiting to be contradicted, but everyone seemed pre-disposed to believe the Austrians capable of anything.

Frank liked going out, although there was only so much cafe life he could stand, and it was a relief to return to the palace at night. He was usually ready to go out again the next night, though, and he and Ray spent a week crisscrossing the city. Their story began to precede them; by the time they got to the last neighborhoods on their plan, the men in the cafes were already talking of an assassin who had been speaking German and had even said "God save the Emperor" before the cowardly act of shooting himself. It was widely believed that Austrian spies were at large in the city.

Frank returned to the palace with a much better understanding of the city and her residents. His head was buzzing with new ideas, chief among them the _fascinating_ bit of knowledge that portraits of Gerard sold extremely well, especially, it seemed, to adolescent girls, who hung them in their bedrooms. Frank couldn't _wait_ to share that with every single person he met for the next two weeks.

 

"Do you remember Cafe Santo Dominico?" Ray said, some days later. "I heard a man was run out of there last night for criticizing His Majesty's involvement in domestic affairs. They took him for an Austrian spy."

Frank whooped with delight. "That's fantastic. As long as he wasn't hurt..?"

"Oh, no! I think he just had to leave most precipitously."

"So that's that sorted," Frank said. "Next up, Gerard's crazy social liberation speech: yea or nay?"

 

_Chapter 12_

Summer in Aquileia was all right, Frank supposed. Still not as nice as the coast, but the flowers were lovely, and the nights stayed a fair bit warmer than they did along the sea. The mountains still had snow on them, and Frank found it disconcerting to be warm and still see snow. It was warm enough to take breakfast on the terrace in the mornings, and though Gerard complained about the light, Frank and Sweet Pea liked it very well.

The palace was hosting a picnic to celebrate the warm weather and the new wine. Frank was at loose ends for the moment, since Gerard was still inside, doing some last minute gathering of art supplies (which probably meant loading some poor footman with three kinds of easels, none of which would get used).

Frank strolled around a pond filled with water lilies and came across Lady Alicia, sitting alone on a blanket on the grass. Well, as alone as anyone ever was here; there was a maid and a chaperone and some sort of footman present, but all at a respectful distance. Mikey was nowhere to be seen; probably still inside, making sure Gerard didn't forget to come out.

She nodded at him and Frank nodded back; then he decided to just walk over.

"I think perhaps we haven't been properly introduced," Frank said.

"I know who you are, though, Lord Sudagio." Lady Alicia smiled up at him. "My postman. Do please sit down."

Her hands were clasped tight in her lap. Frank wondered if she was nervous or cold. They passed a few moments in careful conversation about the weather, and how nice the gardens were looking now.

"I understand congratulations are in order," Frank said, for want of anything else to say.

Lady Alicia ducked her head, smiling softly. "Thank you very much, sir." There was an awkward pause, and then she spoke again. "I do hope we will be friends. You all seem very close."

"We— what?"

"The royal family." She blinked at him anxiously. "From what His Majesty and His Highness have said..."

Frank... had not actually been considering himself a member of the royal family. But really... what else was he? Frank tried to pretend there wasn't a warm glow in his chest, but he couldn't help looking down and smiling to himself, just for a moment.

Lady Alicia continued talking rapidly. "And, well, I understand that the servants refer to you as the Prince Consort."

Frank looked up at her, startled. There was something almost sly in her face, but well-hidden. Then she bit her lip and looked charmingly worried. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that. I suppose they only do it behind your back, although that doesn't sound very nice. I think they mean it well."

Frank didn't mind, though. There were a lot worse things they could call him— 'Prince Consort' sounded downright respectable. Maybe even the sort of title Gerard would actually give him, if that was in his power.

"Oh, dear. I hope I haven't offended you." Lady Alicia was wringing her hands in her lap. Frank realized she was nervous, and apparently nervous about talking to him. As if his opinion mattered.

Except it did, didn't it, at least with Gerard and Mikey? Frank straightened his shoulders and smiled. "I am not in the least offended, Lady Alicia. Rather the opposite."

She smiled at him, looking very relieved. _Prince Consort,_ Frank thought. He'd take it.

"You know," he looked up at Lady Alicia and smiled. "I think that maybe it wouldn't be all bad if you had ended up as queen."

Lady Alicia looked shocked for a moment, then blushed. "I think that's a very high compliment, your Lordship," she murmured. "But I rather prefer my current situation."

Frank grinned at her and she smiled back. "If you're going to marry Mikey," he said, "you should just call me Frank. All that lordship stuff makes me nervous."

 

Gerard generally took care of boring and dull business in the morning, and Frank joined him for the afternoon meeting. He'd browse through the daily briefing, which was a summary of the day's news prepared especially for Gerard, and listen to the others talk, interjecting when he felt he had something to add, even if it was a just a joke. Gerard seemed to appreciate them, anyway, excepting the ones at his expense.

It took Count Szerlim three weeks to bring up the rumor now taken as gospel in Aquileia: that the Austrians had attempted to assassinate the king.

"It is admittedly difficult to check a rumor once it has begun," he said, "but in this case, some action must be taken. People are beginning to call it 'The Austrian Question,' if you can imagine!"

Frank and Ray exchanged glances and quickly hidden smiles.

"I don't know where or how this rumor began," Szerlim said, although he gave Frank a stern look. "But it will inevitably reach Vienna. They are going to think we blame them for it."

"I'm not inclined to care," Gerard said, just moved enough to be haughty.

"Yet it probably wasn't Austria," Count Szerlim said. "That is unstatesmanlike behavior."

"Then who do you think it was?" Frank challenged him.

"Anarchists," he replied promptly.

"Are there still anarchists?" Gerard asked, dismissive. He was distracted by the terribly significant task of rolling a ball for Sweet Pea.

Szerlim, obviously offended, drew himself up. "Anarchists are a threat to every nation in Europe," he said, sounding rather like a schoolmaster dealing with a group of recalcitrant boys.

Gerard sighed and waved his hands around. "Four years ago, half the nations of Europe faced revolutions."

"Which were all put down, through the grace of God," Szerlim replied.

Gerard looked annoyed. "Which were put down because governments turned their armies on their own people. But that wasn't my point! My point was that there _wasn't_ one in Illyria. And do you know why?" Gerard continued without pausing. "There was no revolution here because we already have a constitution. They've got a parliament and landowners can vote and so they don't have to take to the streets to ask for what they want. There are constraints on the monarchy— well, I guess that's me— I can't just do whatever I want, so people know they've got a measure of protection."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Szerlim said dryly. "I _remember_ when the constitution was written."

Gerard heaved a dramatic sigh, which Frank read as _You're not grasping my vision._ "Well, there aren't anarchists in Illyria for the same reason there wasn't a revolution. There's no need."

"Anarchists are the enemy of order everywhere, sire. They aren't rational or stable individuals—"

"And I'm sure there are _some_ anarchists in Illyria, just like there are _some_ Liberals and _some_... Protestants, or whatever."

"I think not, sire," Szerlim said. Frank couldn't tell if it was a joke or not.

Gerard just ignored him. "But there's no force behind them, because there's no pressure forcing people to that route. I haven't— I hope I haven't— given my own people a reason to want me dead. After all, I've hardly done anything yet. I've obviously given _someone_ a reason to want me dead, but you all seem to think it's Austria."

He looked round at all of them, but no one said anything for a while. "Well," Gerard finally said. "Whether or not it was Austria, we have to behave as if it was, because all of Aquileia seems to think it was, now. Frank?"

Frank forced himself to sit up straight and look professional and impartial. "Sire?"

"You've been reading all about Austria. What should we do?"

This is it, Frank thought. The moment he'd been waiting for and hoping for and working toward since he'd figured out he wanted to help. Frank licked his lips, which felt dry and cracked.

His mind was blank.

He fought off the panic this occasioned. Gerard was looking at him so hopefully. And Mikey was giving Frank his full attention, and Ray nodded encouragingly. Szerlim looked impassive, but he was still waiting on Frank, paying attention, listening.

What did Frank know about Austria, when he'd never left Illyria, only been in three cities in his entire life? What could he know about the Habsburgs, who'd ruled so much so long they defined what an emperor was? They got to rule all the other royal families because they _were_ all other royal families. They'd even intermarried with the Illyrian royal house, way back during the Holy Roman Empire…

 _Oh, for Christ's sake,_ Frank told himself. _Just say_ something.

"Well," he said, wetting his lips again, "well, you could— we should— you could write to the Emperor," he said slowly, letting the words out as they came, grasping at the vague ideas forming in his head. "Sovereign to sovereign," he added. "And tell him... say the assassination attempt was such a shocking situation, wasn't it, the things people do nowadays, and it was difficult, and... it's a terrible shame, how the citizenry has leapt to its own conclusions, but you know how peasants are, ha ha. But, you know, tell him all about how anti-Austrian sentiment is so shockingly high. Really a shame, because of course you don't feel that way. But you're sure that, in a few years, it will die down. Somewhat."

Gerard had sat down again and had his chin cupped in his hand. His eyes were bright and full of affection and interest, and that was all Frank wanted.

"You think..." Szerlim trailed off and seemed to be thinking hard.

"I think— I hope— that if the Austrians believe anti-Austrian sentiment is so high, any attempt at interference would be futile, and an actual invasion would only cause them more grief than we'd be worth."

"Between us and the British," Ray agreed. "And we can just expose any further meddling as meddling, and everyone will believe it."

Frank looked down at his hands, but spoke to Gerard. "And maybe... well, if anyone says anything bad about you, right, they think he's an Austrian spy. So maybe people won't believe any... rumors about you. They'll dismiss them all as Austrian confabulation."

"Frank," Gerard exhaled, like he didn't want everyone in the room to hear it.

"We'll have to keep working at this," Ray said, frowning as spoke. "Keep reminding them Austria's working against us, interfering in our country."

"Whether they are or not," Mikey added.

Frank nodded. "Whatever it takes. As long as it takes."

"You think Franz Joseph will believe all this?" Szerlim's voice cut through them. Frank had almost forgotten he was there.

"I bet he wouldn't if his own Prime Minister told him," Frank hazarded. "But it's different coming from another king, isn't it?" he glanced at Gerard. "The rules are different."

Gerard nodded. "The rules are different." For a moment, there was a look on his face that made Frank think that there might be a part of being king that wasn't something Frank could ever understand, or even really imagine. But then Gerard yawned, and rumpled his hair, and he was just Gerard, who belonged to Frank.

"Well it's not like anyone has any better ideas," Gerard said. "This is what we'll do."

 

Frank thought he might go and have a panic attack in peace and then break open a bottle of that new Riesling. But Gerard wouldn't leave him alone, following him into Frank's own office.

Frank tilted his head, crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk, and tried to look like the answer didn't matter so much. "So, what do you think? Did I pass?"

Gerard smiled. "Full marks. But Frank, you never had to prove anything to me."

"I know," Frank said, and he did know that. Now. Maybe all along it hadn't been about proving himself to Gerard, or Szerlim, or anyone else. Frank had had to prove himself to himself.

"You don't have to save me, Frank," Gerard said gently. 

"Of course I do," Frank said. "If I can, I have to save you."

The look on Gerard's face was... wonderful to behold, actually. "I'm very glad I met you, Frank Iero," he said. "My musketeer."

Frank grinned back. "I'll be your musketeer," he agreed. "Can I have that as an official title?"

Gerard spread his hand wide across Frank's back as he pulled him in close. "I was thinking more along the lines of a Dukedom, actually."


	3. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

 

Frank draped himself along Gerard's back so he could whisper in his ear. "I want another puppy."

"No," Gerard said, face still smashed into the pillow. "You already have the ugliest dog in Europe."

"Don't listen, Sweet Pea!" Frank shouted over his shoulder. "He's just bitter because I love you more!"

Gerard made a lot of grumpy noises, and Sweet Pea started yipping at the door. Frank giggled, scraping his teeth against Gerard's shoulder. 

Gerard suddenly rolled, taking Frank by surprise, and there was a confused moment of wrestling. Gerard managed to get the advantage and tried to wrap Frank up in the blankets until he couldn't move.

"Stay," Gerard said.

"Sit, roll over, beg..."

"Ooh, yes. I like the last one." Gerard's leer— which no doubt would have been hilarious— was ruined by a large yawn. "Is there coffee yet? I want coffee."

"I don't think Simon can actually read your mind," Frank said. "Yet," he added ominously.

"I don't think it would be bad." Gerard reached over to tug the bell pull. "At least not if it meant he always brought coffee at exactly the right moment."

Gerard sat on him until Simon came in and made him stop.

"And how late were you out last night, Excellency?" Simon asked Frank, once they were sitting down to breakfast.

Frank sniffed at him. "Exactly as long as my business took."

"Shocking late," Gerard chimed in, which was a filthy lie, because Gerard had still been up, drawing, when Frank got in, and Gerard had then spent a considerable amount of time drawing on Frank, and then yet more time smearing it. The sheets were probably ruined. Again.

"Oh!" Frank was reminded of something. "I brought Sweet Pea something—"

"Frank," Gerard frowned at him. "You know you're banned from buying her any more collars."

"But this one was red," Frank whined. "And anyway, if I had _another puppy_ then it would be a sufficient number of collars, not a surplus."

"Don't listen to him, sire," Simon said. "He'd just buy more."

"I know he would," Gerard said darkly, stabbing at his plate. "And we can't get another puppy now, Frank, we're going to have a baby."

"In eight months," he grumbled, but they beamed at each other. Simon got in on the beaming, too. It was still new; Alicia had only told them a week ago.

Alicia and Mikey were going to have a tiny baby, and it would be Gerard's heir, which definitely had to mean they got to play with it as much as they wanted. Frank couldn't wait.

"The Duke of Krillij is going to spend the day in his solarium," Gerard announced, because he was evil. "Your breathing was labored last night," he added to Frank.

Frank sulked at him, although in fact his lungs did feel tight after spending so much time in the cold air last night.

Gerard smiled beatifically, kissed Frank goodbye, and went off to terrorize someone about something.

Frank took a long, hot bath, watching the last of Gerard's ink lift off his skin and whirl away. He wished he could save some of the pictures Gerard drew and painted on him. He'd even cast a covetous eye at some of the sailor's tattoos, when they'd been in Port Angelo during their August holiday at Sudagio. But Frank knew a tattooed duke might be pushing things a bit far.

Then he did go sit in his solarium, because the warmth and humidity _did_ help. Before long, Alicia came in with her work, and sent her maids away.

Frank would give his proper spymaster report to Gerard and Ray after lunch, but he liked to share all the funny, moving, small human moments he witnessed out in the city with Alicia.

"So what kept you out so late you missed my salon entirely?" Alicia demanded. "Chasing Austrian agents through the piazzas?"

Frank laughed and told her about the musicians under whose spell he'd fallen. He planned to point Mr. Stump in their direction.

Gerard and Mikey and Ray joined them for lunch, and Frank joined in teasing Ray about spending his evenings in the salon of Countess Mosca, sighing hopefully after her youngest daughter.

 

In the long, lazy period after tea and before dinner, Frank was practicing on his guitar when Gerard reappeared, alone, and somehow managed to squeeze onto the chaise lounge on which Frank was reclining.

"I brought you a present," Gerard said.

"Is it a puppy?" Frank asked immediately.

Gerard frowned. "No. And now it's going to be a letdown because there's nothing as good as a puppy. Damn you."

Frank giggled and shuffled to give Gerard a bit more room. "All right, where's the present? You still have to give it to me, you know."

Gerard bit his lip, looking suddenly nervous. Frank couldn't imagine why. Gerard retrieved a small box from his inner coat pocket, which necessitated shoving his elbow into Frank's chest.

Frank was going to ask if this would be easier if they weren't both in the same chair, but Gerard would probably just look at him blankly, and anyway he was opening the box now.

"Here," Gerard said. "I just had these made. I designed them myself."

Frank took the ring, which was made of twisting strands of gold, some yellow, some white. Gerard showed him the clever little panel on the underside that slide aside. On the band under the moving panel their initials were engraved. Gerard's initials first, on Frank's ring, and Frank's first on Gerard's ring.

"How... extraordinary," Frank said. He felt winded. To cover up his reaction, he tried the ring on.

"So," Gerard said, stuttering slightly, "I just... had them made, really." He pressed a long kiss to the side of Frank's head, and when he pulled away, Frank pulled him back in for a proper kiss. 

Frank tangled his fingers in Gerard's hair and sucked on his lower lip before licking into his mouth. He could feel Gerard settling into the kiss, settling against him. Frank put everything he was feeling into it, telling Gerard without words what he couldn't say. 

They weren't going to talk about what the rings meant; they didn't have to. Alicia and Mikey were going to provide the throne of Illyria with an heir, which meant Gerard wouldn't have to get married. So Frank got a ring.

They were melting into each other, shifting a little bit to fit better. Frank ran his hands slowly, lightly over Gerard's shoulders. He was in no hurry for anything else. This, just this, this right here, was more than enough.

After some lost amount of time, Gerard pulled back, blinking like he was just waking up, then pressed a kiss, then another, to Frank's mouth. "I should probably go," he said. "I'm supposed to be meeting with... some people. Parma. The delegation from Parma." 

"Oh yeah?" said Frank.

"Yeah," Gerard sighed, and pressed another teasing kiss to Frank's mouth.

"I'll bet they'll wait for you," Frank pointed out. "I think that's something they have to do."

"Huh," Gerard said, playing with the collar of Frank's shirt. "I think you may be right."

"I am," Frank smiled. "Trust me."

Gerard smiled, and sank back down to kiss Frank again, carefully, and then not so carefully.

_Yes, this,_ Frank thought. _This forever._


End file.
